An Innocent Man
by cheride
Summary: Early in Mark's time at Gull's Way, strange phone calls and a series of burglaries stir up questions of trust.
1. Chapter 1

_**An Innocent Man**- Cheride_

_**Rating:** PG_

_**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_**A/N:** This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Mark McCormick sat at the poolside table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth by the forkful without pausing between bites.

"You're doing it again," growled a voice from behind the morning paper.

The fork dropped immediately to the plate with a loud clatter, and McCormick could feel the burn creeping into his face. "Sorry," he mumbled around the eggs.

The paper lowered to reveal the cragged features of Milton Hardcastle, retired Superior Court judge. Though he faced McCormick with a scowl, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "We're not on a schedule here, kid," he replied, "and you don't have a work detail waiting for you. Slow down."

McCormick reached for a slice of toast and tore off a bite, looking at the older man thoughtfully. "No schedule maybe," he finally replied, "but have you looked around lately? Keeping this place in shape practically qualifies as hard labor."

Hardcastle lost the battle to keep the grin off his face. "Time you learned the value of an honest day's work, McCormick; it'll do you a world of good."

McCormick shook his head as he grabbed his fork again. "Whatever you say, Hardcase, whatever you say." He resumed his meal at a more leisurely pace, and Hardcastle disappeared behind the paper again. As he reached for his orange juice, McCormick took a moment to reflect on the man hiding behind the sports page.

It had been almost four weeks since he had come to live with the judge, and things still seemed just a little bit strange sometimes. Actually, if you really thought about it, the whole situation was strange, and not just a little bit. Whoever heard of a judge taking an ex-convict into his home to play Batman and Robin? He would have been less surprised if ol' Hardcase had had another kind of game in mind. Of course, if _that_ had been the offer, McCormick would still be sitting in a prison cell somewhere, probably with a murder rap added to the grand theft auto. He shook his head slightly, amused now at the very idea of the sworn defender of justice making inappropriate propositions to a helpless felon.

But strange or not, he had to admit that he and Hardcastle had worked pretty well together in Vegas chasing after Martin Cody, and up in San Francisco, they had managed to drop the net around that businessman, Joe Donaldson, without a hitch. Well, not much of a hitch. There had been that one moment when Donaldson's security chief had gotten the jump on him. The chief had held him at gunpoint, using McCormick as a shield so that he and his boss could escape. McCormick had thought it might all be over for him; he was certain Hardcase would give him up before he would lose this arrest. But he had been wrong. The judge had been willing to let them walk out in exchange for McCormick's safety, and that willingness had touched Mark deeply.

But even if he had a surprising soft spot, Hardcastle was still the same man who had sent him to prison for two years, still the same man who had now blackmailed him into joining his crazy justice crusade, and…still the same man who actually seemed to be trying to make him comfortable with this new situation. McCormick was having a difficult time reconciling the Hardcastle he had spent two and a half years hating with the one now sitting across the patio table, but he knew he needed to straighten out the confusion. Soon.

McCormick finished his breakfast, pushed the plate away, then sat silently. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

Hardcastle folded the paper down and peered over the top. "Something on your mind, McCormick?"

"Um, actually, Judge, I was wondering if you had plans for me today." Seeing the raised eyebrow, the young man hurried on. "I mean, I know I have to clean the pool, and Sarah wanted me to weed the front gardens, but after that…."

The judge folded the paper completely and set it aside. "What's up, kid?"

"I thought…well, I thought maybe I could go out for a while this afternoon. I mean, I've been on a pretty short leash since I got out, and I just wanted to…I don't know…run some errands and stuff."

"What kind of errands?"

"Nothing much. Go to the bank…get some groceries…you know, just stuff."

Hardcastle examined him speculatively. "Short leash, huh?"

McCormick dropped his eyes. "That wasn't exactly a complaint, Judge," he said quietly.

"No?"

"No," McCormick assured him, cursing himself for broaching the subject. "Look, forget I brought it up. I didn't mean to overstep my bounds." He pushed away from the table and began gathering up the breakfast dishes. "I'll just take this stuff in to Sarah, then I'll start on the gardens. I'll get the pool later, so I don't disturb you."

Hardcastle watched the young man closely. Not for the first time, he thought that McCormick seemed more disgruntled teenager than convicted felon, and he wiped a hand across his mouth to hide the small smile. "McCormick," he called as the lean figure started away from the patio.

"Yeah, Judge?" McCormick answered, not bothering to turn back.

"Do your chores first. And be back by four."

The ex-con whirled around, the change in demeanor immediate and complete. "Really?" He crossed back to the table quickly—almost dropping the dishes in the process—the grin lighting up his face. "I appreciate this, Judge, I really do. You want me to do anything for you while I'm out?"

The judge returned the grin. "Yeah. Behave yourself, kiddo."

**00000**

Hardcastle smiled as he looked at the shimmering blue water of his pool; the kid had done a good job. He turned his attention back to the papers on the table in front of him, intending to close out the files on Martin Cody and Joe Donaldson. He had jotted only a few notes when the ringing phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Hardcastle," he growled into the receiver.

_"Where was your pet convict last night, Hardcastle?" _

"Who is this?" the judge demanded.

_"Let's just say I'm a concerned citizen," _the voice replied. _"You might be interested in page seven of this morning's _Times

The line clicked closed before Hardcastle could ask any further questions. He stared at the receiver in his hand, not at all pleased with the implication of the unexpected call. He replaced the phone and grabbed his morning paper, turning quickly to page seven. He scanned the print, looking for….well, he wasn't exactly sure what, but he assumed he would know it when he saw it. Halfway down the second column, he found what he was after. He read and re-read the short article, trying to determine if there was anything there that implicated McCormick in the pawn shop burglary. But except for the fact that it appeared to be a clean job, there were precious few details.

Hardcastle glanced at his watch; McCormick was due back in half an hour. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to wait much longer, but on the other hand, that didn't give him much time to figure out just what the hell he intended to say.

He let his eyes wander back to the newspaper, and let his thoughts wander back over the last month. He had been almost certain that McCormick was the man for his retirement project, but he had been disappointed to learn that the kid had been busted again before he'd even had the chance to talk to him about the idea. So, he had made some calls and arranged for McCormick to appear before him one last time, setting up the perfect opportunity to entice the young man into his 'employment'.

It had been a little rocky, but McCormick seemed to be adjusting. He had done well working the case against Cody, even though he was inexperienced and had been dealing with his own grief and anger. And then, in San Francisco, the kid had shown true potential, and true courage. As they had put together their case against Donaldson, McCormick had grasped some of the intricacies of the evidence easily; he had contributed useful ideas; and he had willingly walked into Donaldson's organization to put together the final pieces of the puzzle. When that scumbag security chief had put a gun to McCormick's head, Hardcastle had seen in the young blue eyes a weary acceptance that his life was in another's hands, and it had touched the judge deeply.

As he sat by the pool, it occurred to Hardcastle that the phone call had caught him completely off guard. He realized that he had already developed an amazing amount of trust in the young man, though he certainly had not intended that to be the case. He had deliberately kept McCormick on that short leash in an effort to establish discipline, and yet the first time the kid had simply asked, he had given in to the sad puppy dog eyes. It wasn't supposed to be that way, and the story on page seven was precisely why. With a sigh of resignation, Hardcastle set his files aside and waited for McCormick to return.

**00000**

The judge looked at his watch as he heard McCormick's car, the Coyote, pull into the drive, and smiled in spite of his concerns: the kid had a minute to spare. He heard the engine and the blaring music stop simultaneously, and then heard McCormick's voice calling out loudly.

"Judge? I'm back!"

Hardcastle shouted out before McCormick headed to the main house. "At the pool, McCormick!"

McCormick poked his curly head around the bushes. "Hiya, Hardcase. You been sitting out here lazing by the pool all day?" He plopped down at the table and pulled a small paper bag from the grocery sack he was carrying. "Well, you can keep right on relaxing, because I brought some burgers for lunch. Where's Sarah? I got one for her, too."

McCormick's grin was infectious, and Hardcastle found it mirrored on his own face as he answered. "Sarah got a head start on her weekend off; she went to visit some friends."

McCormick shrugged happily as he doled out the burgers and fries. "Oh, well. More for us." He eagerly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and devoured almost half of it in his first bite. Seeing the judge watching him, he felt his face flushing again, and placed the burger gingerly on the tabletop. "I'm working on it," he said seriously, then laughed. "I'll get better, Judge, you'll see."

Hardcastle winked at his young charge. "I don't doubt it a bit, kid." He took a bite of his own burger. "Do you have any drinks in that bag of yours?"

McCormick shook his head as he swallowed a handful of fries. "Nothing cold," he said rising from his chair, "but I've got stuff in the gatehouse. Soda? Beer? Water?"

"Soda's good."

McCormick disappeared into the gatehouse and returned a minute later with two cans of soda. He dropped back into his chair and pushed one of the cans across the table to Hardcastle. "Your wish is my command, Your Honor," he quipped.

"You're in a good mood," Hardcastle observed, as he popped the top and raised the can to his lips.

"Yep," McCormick answered, grinning around his hamburger. "It was good to be off the leash." The laughter in his voice removed any possible insult from the words.

"So what'd you do this afternoon, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked between bites.

McCormick's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Whaddaya mean, what do I mean?" Hardcastle countered. "I'm just making conversation."

"I don't think so, Hardcase," McCormick replied, all traces of laughter gone. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…maybe I feel better with a little bit of a leash," the judge admitted, though he suddenly realized that he already missed the light that had disappeared from McCormick's eyes. But it was his job to keep the kid in line.

McCormick glared at Hardcastle over his soda. "You sure know how to kill a mood, Judge." He looked at the jurist expectantly. When it became clear Hardcastle was waiting for him to continue, McCormick sighed loudly in exasperation. "All right. Whatever."

But then, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. "You know what?" he said earnestly. "If it were me, I'd probably wonder, too."

Hardcastle smiled gently, surprised. "Would you?" Damn. This kid was hard to figure out.

McCormick met his gaze. "Yeah, Judge, I would. I'm sorry. I know I have to earn your trust." He offered a slight smile. "And I will…I promise. Okay, obviously, I stopped at the supermarket," McCormick indicated the bag of groceries at his feet, "and I stopped for burgers. Before that, I was at the ba—-"

"McCormick, wait," Hardcastle interrupted suddenly. "This is silly. I don't know what I was thinking." He paused, uncertain. Finally, he followed his heart. "I'm glad you had a good day."

McCormick stared at him. "Really?" he asked softly.

"Really." Hardcastle returned to his meal.

McCormick shook his head, again realizing he had a long way to go before he would fully understand this situation and just what the hell he should expect. But he had never been all that good at simply waiting for whatever came along, so…

"Judge?"

"Yeah?"

"This is kind of weird for me." He stuffed a couple more fries into his mouth, confident that the judge would understand his comment.

"You think it's not for me?"

McCormick shrugged. "I don't know, Hardcase, but Sarah said you had other cons here before. I thought maybe you had some words of wisdom, or something."

Hardcastle gave a short, gruff laugh. "You asking me for advice, kiddo?"

"Maybe." McCormick's answer was guarded, but he still managed a slight grin. "Would that be okay?"

"It would be absolutely okay…if I had any to give. Every situation is different, McCormick. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that we're gonna have to rely on each other …even if it is kind of weird."

"You mean _trust_ each other," McCormick clarified.

"Eventually," Hardcastle replied, not wanting to commit to too much too soon, then repeated, "Even if it's kind of weird."

McCormick regarded him silently for a moment, then the grin spread across his face. "Fair enough, Kemosabe. I can sure give it a try if you can. Hey," he continued after a pause, "there was something I was going to tell you about, though."

Hardcastle raised his eyebrow quizzically, saying a silent prayer that whatever the younger man was about to say wasn't newsworthy.

"I met someone today."

The judge stared at him wordlessly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The animation had returned to McCormick's face, and the blue eyes were positively dancing.

"Is that so?" he finally managed to reply.

The brown curls bobbed up and down. "Yep. We were both looking at the latest Billy Joel album in the music store. Well, she was looking, so I joined her. I think it was fate. Her name is Valerie."

"Valerie, huh?" Hardcastle asked. "So you taking her out?"

"No, course not," McCormick answered emphatically. "I didn't know if you'd want me away from the estate again, or…well, you know what I mean." The judge was surprised to realize that there was no resentment in the words.

"Yeah, I know what you mean, kid," Hardcastle answered, making a mental promise that he would talk with the kid tomorrow about the ground rules for coming and going from the estate. That should give him plenty of time to come up with them.

"But I did invite her over for a picnic dinner on the beach," McCormick continued. "I wasn't really sure about that, either, though, so I can call her and cancel if it's a problem."

"Tonight?"

McCormick nodded. "Yeah. But if it's a problem, just let me know. It's okay."

Hardcastle grinned as he realized that McCormick was sincere; he was waiting for permission. "No, McCormick, it's not a problem. I just wasn't sure you'd be able to _have_ dinner tonight after everything you've just eaten." He watched as the young man ate the last bite of the extra burger.

"Don't be silly, Judge," McCormick managed to say through his food. "Dinner is hours from now."

The judge laughed as he gathered the trash from his lunch. He wrapped everything into the newspaper lying at his side, then tossed the entire ball across the table. "Throw this junk out."

McCormick began to gather up his own trash, then remembered something. "By the way," he said, reaching into his bag again, "I went ahead and picked up a copy of that new tape for you, too."

"Billy Joel?" Hardcastle asked uncertainly. "For me?" He seriously doubted that he and McCormick would share similar tastes in music.

"So you'll never forget me," McCormick said with a grin. He tossed the cassette on the table and walked away, hearing the judge trying to stifle laughter as he looked at the album title.

_An Innocent Man_.

**00000**

The phone was on its third ring before Hardcastle recognized the sound. He rolled over slowly and grabbed the receiver from the cradle. "Hello?" he said groggily.

_"It's two o'clock,"_ said a cheerful voice. _"Do you know where your convict is?"_

That woke him up. "What is it you want?" he demanded. "Who are you?" But just as before, the caller was gone without any further conversation. The judge leaned over to slam the phone back in place, then flopped back onto the bed. "What the hell?" he muttered to the darkness.

He lay on his back in the dark for ten minutes, arguing with himself. Hadn't he just told the kid they were going to have to trust one another? How could he now go storming down to the gatehouse checking up on him like some warden after lights out? And even if the gatehouse was empty, what would that prove? He hadn't specifically told the kid he couldn't go out, just let him operate on the assumption that he was confined…a tactic he was seriously regretting now. But… even if it was an unspoken agreement that McCormick would need permission to leave the estate, would his absence automatically indicate some greater guilt?

Hardcastle pondered that last thought for a moment. After all, it wasn't like he had anything approaching evidence, just some nameless voice on the phone. Was that reason enough to risk the rather fragile bond that he was beginning to form with McCormick? But if he stayed here now, would he ever be one hundred percent sure, or would his own uncertainty destroy the very foundation he was trying to protect?

Finally, as he had done for over thirty years, Hardcastle turned to the law. McCormick had been placed in his custody as a condition of parole. Hardcastle had an absolute legal right to know the kid's whereabouts anytime he chose. Whatever type of bond might be forming, it wouldn't be wise to forget the fundamental nature of their relationship.

Hardcastle rolled out of bed, pulled on his bathrobe and battered tennis shoes, and started down the stairs, trying to stay focused on the fact that he had made his decision. Damn, he hated this. It wasn't in his nature to second-guess himself, and yet everything about this McCormick situation was causing him doubts. By the time he reached the front porch, he had almost convinced himself to turn around and go back to bed…until he realized that the Coyote was not sitting in the driveway. Shaking his head angrily, he stomped toward the gatehouse, ignoring the turmoil growing inside him.

**00000**

Mark McCormick was a happy man. As he climbed out of the Coyote, he thought it was possible that this had been the best day he'd had since being paroled from San Quentin. Well, maybe second best, his mind amended quickly, as his last lunch with Flip Johnson flashed into his thoughts. Today had definitely been good, though. He and Valerie had certainly had a wonderful evening, but it surprised him to realize that much of his happiness was left over from the earlier part of the day with the judge. It was hard to believe, but it seemed Hardcastle was truly beginning to trust him, and—though he would never admit it to anyone else—he liked the way that felt.

As he thought about their conversation, McCormick looked around guiltily; old Hardcase would probably have his ass for being out without permission. Thank God the house was still dark; the judge would never know. He opened the door to the gatehouse and slipped inside silently.

"Where you been, McCormick?" said a voice from the darkness.

"Jesus!" McCormick yelled out, slamming on the lights. He grabbed at his chest and fell against the wall, only slightly exaggerating the fright he had experienced before noticing Hardcastle sitting calmly on the couch.

"You trying to give me a heart attack, Hardcase? What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Waiting for you, hotshot."

"What happened? Was the grass growing so loudly it woke you? Have a nightmare about hedges growing wild? Or did you just miss my smiling face?"

Hardcastle felt a smile forming at the smart-ass response, but he shook his head firmly. If he'd had this conversation earlier today, maybe he could be sleeping now. "Don't try to change the subject, McCormick."

"Didn't know there _was_ a subject, Judge," McCormick commented as he walked further into the room. He pulled out a chair from the table, swiveled it around, and straddled the cushion. Resting his chin on the back of the chair, he met Hardcastle's eyes. "So what's up?"

"You really need to ask?" the judge replied, no trace of amusement remaining. "I asked you where you've been. What you were doing would be good, too."

McCormick grinned slightly. "A gentleman never tells." His good mood was preventing him from seeing the hard glint settling in the judge's eyes.

"You're stalling," Hardcastle said bluntly. "What is it you don't want me to know?"

The cold stare and dull monotone finally registered in McCormick's senses, and he felt his spirits plummet. "You're serious," he said, shaking his head as he rose from the chair. "Unbelievable. It's late, Judge," he continued, "and I'm really tired. Let's not do this tonight." He crossed the room and started up the stairs to his bedroom.

"We _are_ gonna do this tonight, McCormick," Hardcastle said firmly, as he rose from the sofa. "Whether we do it here or downtown is up to you."

McCormick froze on the stairs, and then whirled on the judge as he felt his hurt and disappointment complete the transformation into anger. "Is this the way you show that trust you were talking about earlier, Hardcastle?" he yelled.

"Is this the way you earn it?" Hardcastle shot back.

The angry response died on McCormick's lips as he remembered his promise. "No," he said quietly, "it isn't." Didn't this guy ever get tired of being right?

He returned to the living area with the judge. "Valerie had car problems this afternoon, Judge, so she came out here in a cab. I took her home."

"That's it?" Hardcastle didn't seem entirely convinced.

McCormick nodded. "That's it. I'm sorry I made it into an issue; I told you I was tired." He plopped himself back onto the chair at the table. He waited until Hardcastle had seated himself back on the sofa, then continued. "What else do you want to know, Hardcase?"

"So you just decided to go out? After this afternoon?"

"I know the timing is bad—"

"You think?" Hardcastle interrupted. "Seems to me like a classic case of taking a mile instead of an inch."

"That wasn't my intention, Judge, I swear." He watched his custodian closely, hoping to see some of the earlier faith return to his eyes, but it wasn't there yet. He rubbed his hands across his eyes wearily. "Okay, Judge…just tell me what I should've done. Pound on the door and drag you out of bed at one o'clock in the morning and ask if it's okay to break curfew? C'mon, Hardcase, I want to see her again; I sure as hell didn't want her around while I had to go crawling to my parole officer for permission to leave the house."

"So you didn't tell her about our arrangement?"

"It's not exactly the best ice-breaker conversation, Hardcase."

For a moment, Hardcastle's face was filled with sincerity. "You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, kiddo. Everyone makes mistakes at some point in their life."

McCormick stared at him, disbelieving. "That might be a little more encouraging if we weren't in the middle of this inquisition scene, Judge," he replied blandly.

Hardcastle admitted to himself that the kid had a point. But still…. "Where does Valerie live?" he asked suddenly, getting his thoughts back on topic.

"Over in Windsor Hills," McCormick replied without argument.

"And you took her home at one?"

McCormick nodded. "About that, yeah."

"So I think that still leaves us needing to talk about what you've been doing. It's almost four-thirty, McCormick. Last time I checked, it didn't take three and a half hours to make the trip to Windsor Hills and back."

McCormick grinned slightly. "We, uh…might have taken a little bit of a scenic route, if you know what I mean, Hardcase."

"And after you dropped her off?" Hardcastle asked.

"I came straight home." McCormick searched the older blue eyes again. Nope. Still not there.

"Judge, please. Tell me what to say. You want an apology? I'm sorry. Really. You want me to promise it won't happen again? Okay. Your house, your rules. I won't breathe without your permission. You want to call Valerie and check my story? Go ahead; I'll give you the number. I mean, what the hell? I like her and all, but I gotta live with you. Hardcastle. Please. Just tell me what to do."

The judge studied the ex-con thoughtfully, struck by the vulnerability he saw in the blue eyes. It hit him suddenly that those eyes were the root of his problem. In his judicial mind, McCormick was a typical punk kid: too many wild ideas, too little respect for anyone or anything, and too damn stubborn to appreciate the last, best chance that life was likely to throw his way. You didn't have to spend much time around McCormick to realize that his attitude and behavior were a perfect match for that stereotypical viewpoint.

As long as you didn't look in his eyes.

Even when the smart mouth was running a mile a minute—which was most of the time—the eyes held a warmth and intelligence that belied the punk exterior. And in those rare moments when the words coming from the young man's mouth were filled with open sincerity—moments like now—the eyes revealed a depth of conviction and emotion that seemed almost out of place in one so young. These were the moments that caused the judge's confusion, for it was during these moments he was forced to admit that he might have underestimated the ex-convict in his care. He knew how to deal with punk kids; he was becoming less confident that he knew how to deal with McCormick. He shook his head slightly.

"Just don't lie to me, McCormick," he finally answered.

"I haven't," McCormick assured him, and the eyes offered their own guarantee. "I wouldn't."

Hardcastle recapped the conversation. "So you and Valerie were here until about one?"

"Right."

"Then you drove her, in a somewhat roundabout manner, to Windsor Hills?"

"Right."

"And you didn't tell me you were going because you didn't want to disturb me or embarrass yourself?"

"Right." McCormick was quickly losing interest in the conversation, but he wasn't about to argue any further.

"And you were going to tell me about it tomorrow at breakfast?"

"Ri—" McCormick broke off before he finished the word. "What?"

Hardcastle regarded him coolly without comment. And watched the eyes.

After a brief moment, McCormick shook his head. "I didn't say that, Judge."

"No?"

"No. Let me give you a little lesson from Convict 101: Never admit to anything."

"Hard to build trust with an attitude like that, kiddo," Hardcastle commented mildly.

McCormick shrugged slightly. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'll follow your rules, Judge. And I won't ever lie to you. I don't know that I can promise you more."

"What if I need more?" the judge challenged, though he honestly thought McCormick had perfectly outlined the recipe for success.

"I don't know," McCormick admitted softly. He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Then maybe I'm not the one for this," he suggested. He worked to keep the sadness from his voice, unaware that his eyes had already betrayed the secret.

Hardcastle rose from the sofa, abandoning his suspicions. "You're not getting off that easy, kid," he said gruffly. "You're the one until I say you're not."

McCormick looked up at him, immediately sensing the change in mood. Not understanding it, but sensing it. He smiled hesitantly.

"Indefinitely, huh?"

Hardcastle laughed at McCormick's word. Had it really only been a month since he had explained to the kid how things could work? Only a month since McCormick had agreed to be in his custody 'indefinitely'? Somehow, it seemed a lifetime ago. But still he laughed, confident that they would find a way to make it work. Even indefinitely.

"Go to bed, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed, as he walked toward the front door. "I don't want to have to listen to you whining all day tomorrow about how tired you are."

McCormick raised his hand in pledge. "You won't hear a word, Judge." He was relieved to watch the judge leave, but he sat without moving for a very long time, wondering—for about the millionth time—just what he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter2**

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and McCormick could think of a hundred things he'd rather be doing than trimming hedges. But since being in a jail cell wasn't one of them, he kept clipping. He and the judge had spent an uneventful day yesterday, and they had completely avoided discussing the incident from Friday night. McCormick wanted to believe that meant Hardcastle was satisfied that the issue was closed, but deep down, he knew better. He still wasn't sure exactly what had triggered the judge's suspicions, but he was certain he would hear more about it eventually. The fact that Hardcastle had absolutely nothing to worry about was unlikely to figure into the old guy's thinking.

Even so, the jurist had done a pretty good job yesterday at keeping things normal…if they had actually established a "normal" yet. They had talked about some files the judge had at the top of his most wanted list, played some basketball, watched the Yankees on TV, and gone to Santa Monica for pizza on the pier before returning home to watch _Rooster Cogburn_ on the nine o'clock movie.All in all, it was a pretty decent day. If it hadn't been for the times McCormick had caught the judge looking at him out of the corner of his eye, things might have been great. But the judge _had_ been looking, and each time, his eyes had been filled with uncertainty. Oh, he had covered it up well, but McCormick had seen, and now he was left to wait and wonder just when Hardcastle would let the other shoe drop.

It might not have been so difficult to deal with if the questioning looks weren't continuing even today. At breakfast, Hardcastle had seemed almost his usual self, and McCormick had dared to hope that maybe they were going to be able to move on. But later in the morning the judge had grown distant, and had buried himself first in his newspaper, and then in his files. Only occasionally had he poked his head out to stare silently as McCormick worked around the yard, and he would disappear back into his reading anytime the young man looked his way. And still McCormick didn't understand any of it. But he knew that he was rapidly losing any amount of control he had ever had over this situation, and since he had never gotten a handle on it to begin with, he certainly didn't know how to go about fixing it now.

Fixing it. McCormick paused as he lingered over the thought. What, exactly, did he think he needed to fix? In many ways, he had it made. Martin Cody was in jail and he wasn't. Hadn't that been the whole reason for going along with Hardcastle's crazy scheme in the first place? He had never expected to be happy about the arrangement; it was simply the means to an end. And he had certainly never expected to care about the judge or his opinions.

So why had he been so pleased to discover Hardcastle's faith in him? And, more importantly, why did he now feel the loss of that faith like a physical blow? Realistically, of course, if the judge truly doubted him, McCormick knew it was just a matter of time until he was back behind bars, and that was an outcome he couldn't bear to consider. But he was honest enough with himself to know that incarceration was not the only thing bothering him, though he was damned if he knew why anything else mattered.

"Dammit!" he yelled, as he threw the clippers to the ground in frustration.

"McCormick?" Hardcastle was on his feet instantly. "Are you okay?"

"Would you care?" McCormick shouted as he stomped toward the patio, suddenly determined to confront Hardcastle with the anger growing from his confusion.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the judge sputtered.

"I want to know what's going on, Judge." McCormick had made it to the concrete and continued toward Hardcastle. "Tell me what's bothering you." He reached the table where the judge had been working. "What do you want to ask me?" He took the last step and planted himself directly in front of an astounded Hardcastle. "What is it you think I've done?" he shouted into the judge's face.

Hardcastle locked his eyes on those glowering just inches in front of him, and stood his ground. After a moment, he trusted himself to speak rationally. "I think you better step back, kid."

McCormick simply continued to glare down into the ice blue eyes for a long, long moment. Finally, Hardcastle's words sank in, and he realized this was not the way to deal with his frustration. He lowered his eyes and deliberately backed away. He knew he should explain.

"Judge…" he began.

"Sit down," Hardcastle directed coldly.

McCormick tried again. "Look, Judge—"

"I said, sit down. Now."

McCormick swallowed tightly and dropped into the nearest chair. His initial burst of anger had disappeared, leaving only an inexplicable sadness. And now, a new fear. He had gone too far, and he knew it. If Hardcastle hadn't been considering sending him back before, he sure as hell would be now.

Hardcastle stood over the dejected form. "Apparently we need to get some things straight, McCormick. When I said I wanted us to be partners, I never meant _equal_ partners. You're out on the Milton C. Hardcastle charity wagon, you know, kid. It would serve you well to remember who's in charge around here."

"Yes, sir," McCormick replied almost inaudibly.

The response was so unexpected that Hardcastle simply stared. Though the curly head was lowered as McCormick sat slumped in the chair, he didn't need the eyes this time; he understood the emotion driving the response. All the contrition in the world wouldn't make McCormick address him in that fashion, but fear would. Only fear. Well, good. Hadn't that been his intention? Yes. But… But what? He _wanted_ the kid to be afraid of prison; sometimes that was the only thing that kept people in line.

_But I don't want him to be afraid of me. _The thought came unbidden into Hardcastle's mind. He shook his head, as if he could dislodge the wayward idea; he didn't have time to even try to figure out what it meant.

He grabbed his chair and dragged it around the table, seating himself directly in front of McCormick. "Talk," he commanded gruffly.

McCormick looked up at the judge, his face betraying his fear and confusion. He shook his head. "I'm not the one with something to say, Judge." He waited for some kind of response from the older man, but Hardcastle only sat silently, looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath, and searched for the right words.

"Okay. Judge…I don't know what's going on the last couple of days, but something is obviously wrong. Something has made you suspicious of me, and I'll be damned if I know what it is. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's more than an illegal drive to Windsor Hills. You're kind of hard-nosed about things sometimes, Judge, but I think that would be overkill, even for you. Besides, unless I'm completely off base, all this started before my date with Valerie. You had something on your mind when I came home Friday afternoon, and it wasn't an update on my love life.

"But," he continued, working it out as he spoke, "you couldn't have been all that worried earlier in the day, or you would never have let me leave the estate. So something must have happened while I was out Friday. I'm not sure how I could cause something to go so wrong when I wasn't even here, but I do have a talent for trouble sometimes." He grinned slightly, but wasn't particularly surprised when Hardcastle didn't respond.

"Anyway, Judge, all I know for sure is that something is bothering you, and it's something about me. I swear, I haven't done anything wrong, so whatever it is that's on your mind, I wish you would just spit it out so we can get past this. In retrospect, I know that you tried to ask me about it twice on Friday, but both times you let me off the hook. I appreciated it at the time, but now I wish you would just ask your questions. I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong." He finally met Hardcastle's eyes. "I know you're worried, Judge, and I know what that could mean. At least give me a chance to defend myself before you send me back to prison."

"Well," Hardcastle said after a moment, "I'm glad you didn't have anything to say, kid." He examined McCormick closely, relieved by the sincerity shining in the eyes. The key would be how long the sincerity remained after their conversation.

"So, if I'm understanding you correctly, McCormick, you're telling me that you haven't broken any laws since you've been here? Is that a fair statement?"

"Yes, Judge, that's a fair statement."

"In the interest of honesty, I'm going to tell you that your little lesson from Convict 101 makes me wonder about the veracity of that answer."

McCormick didn't flinch, and his eyes didn't waver. "Can't say that I blame you. But that doesn't change the fact that it's true. All things considered, Judge, it occurs to me that a lot of the truths I tell you might backfire on me. But…when I said I'd never lie to you, I didn't mean just as long as the truth was convenient. I meant never."

Hardcastle contemplated the statement, but didn't offer a reply. Instead, he offered an explanation.

"I've gotten some phone calls this weekend. The caller implied that you were involved in a couple of burglaries. The first call came Friday while you were out, and he directed me to a newspaper article about a job at a pawnshop that had happened Thursday night. And you're right, I was going to ask you about it when you got home, but I backed off, and I can't really tell you why.

"Then, Friday night, they called again to alert me that you were not where you belonged. That's why I was looking for you to begin with, and waited for you in the gatehouse. But I have to admit, you seemed so sincere in your explanation, and I didn't have any kind of proof, so I let it go again. But they called again yesterday and the story they told me to read was about a burglary in a house in Beverly Hills. The owner had been out most of Friday night, and when he returned home about 3:30, he found his brand new Mercedes gone and a couple of thousand dollars missing from his safe.

"The newspaper just had it listed as part of the police log, so I called downtown yesterday afternoon and got some more of the details. They don't really have any real leads on the perpetrator, but they did find the car almost right away. It was down at the racetrack. There were no prints, but they're going on the idea that it might be someone affiliated with the track because the car was found in one of the restricted lots." Hardcastle still watched McCormick closely, seeing the realization of the implication sink in, bringing with it a greater fear, but there was still no guilt evident in the eyes.

"Anything else, Judge?" McCormick asked in a low tone.

Hardcastle nodded. "Someone called this morning while I was in the shower, but it wasn't the same guy, and this one wasn't calling for me, but for you. They left a message." He saw the question written on the young face, and absolutely believed the puzzlement was genuine. He knew that he had to be careful—after all, he had been wrong before—but every instinct he possessed said the kid wasn't involved in whatever was going on. Still, it would be interesting to know what the smart mouth—and the eyes—would have to say about this.

"He wanted you to know he wasn't happy that you missed your appointment yesterday. He said you still had work to do before he would help you with your early release program." He paused, and then added, "Was there someplace you were supposed to be yesterday, kid? Or someplace that you're planning on going?"

"No," McCormick replied forcefully as the blue eyes blazed with controlled anger, "absolutely not. Judge, I don't know what any of that is about, honest. I didn't pull those jobs, and I'm not working with anybody to stage any kind of escape. I wouldn't do that, and I think you know it, at least on some level. If you didn't, we wouldn't be here now. I know I told you this was weird, but I am trying to make it work. Besides, you've been pretty lax in the security department, Hardcase; if I had wanted to run, I wouldn't have needed anyone's help. Hell, if that had been my plan, I would've headed east out of Vegas instead of west, and this would've all been over weeks ago."

Hardcastle didn't comment, though he knew the kid was right. In fact, even though things had gone pretty well while working in Vegas, the solo drive home really had been his first test for McCormick, and the young man had passed with flying colors. It was even possible that the moment he had truly felt trust beginning was the moment he had returned from Nevada himself and found the Coyote sitting in the driveway. Finally, he spoke again.

"Maybe you should go ahead and give me a better idea of where you were when you weren't here; and the more details you have, the better."

McCormick nodded his head. "Yeah, okay, anything you want. First of all, I can't explain Thursday night. I didn't leave this property, Judge, but I don't have a way to prove it. Whatever time I left you and went to the gatehouse is the time I was in for the night. I listened to some music and watched some TV, and then I went to bed. Whoever ripped off that pawnshop, it wasn't me. Besides," he added as a thought hit him, "you were in the gatehouse just the other day. Did you see any hot property lying around anywhere?"

Hardcastle laughed slightly. "Are you telling me you don't know anyone who could fence the stuff?"

"Well…." McCormick fidgeted in his chair. "No, I guess not. I'm sure I could get it done," he admitted. "But, jeez, Judge, let's be realistic about this: how much stuff could I fit into the Coyote, anyway? It's not exactly the right vehicle for carting off a shop full of electronics, you know. But, anyway, the point is, I was here Thursday night, not anywhere else.

"As for Friday afternoon…the first thing I did was stop at the bank; I guess that was just before noon. Then I went to the mall to browse the music shop." He grinned briefly. "My date with destiny, you know. I really wasn't at the mall all that long, a half hour or so. I made a quick trip to the market to pick up stuff for the picnic, and then…" McCormick broke off suddenly and his face clouded.

"And then _what_, McCormick?" Hardcastle demanded.

McCormick took a breath, his promise of '_I'll_ _never lie to_ _you_' at war with his rule of '_never admit to anything_'. The promise had to win.

"Then I went out to the track for a little while." He glanced at the judge. "I just wanted to touch base with some friends, see how everyone was doing. I couldn't stay long, and they…they invited me back, and…God…this is going to sound bad, Judge."

Hardcastle didn't like the sound of that. "Whatever it is, hearing it from someone else would make it sound worse," he pointed out. "So they invited you back, and what?"

McCormick plunged ahead. "And they gave me a crew pass and a key to one of the side gates so I could come and go without paying admission every time."

He watched Hardcastle struggle with that piece of information. "I told you it would sound bad," he said softly.

"And have you been back?" the judge asked levelly.

"No, Judge, I haven't; I swear. I mean, I know, I've got the whole Convict 101 thing working against me still—remind me not to tell you things like that again, by the way—but still…I haven't been back, and I certainly didn't stash a stolen car there."

"So, that was Friday afternoon," Hardcastle said non-committally. "What about Friday night?"

McCormick shrugged. "I don't really have much to say that you haven't heard already. I left here about one. Valerie and I drove down the coast a ways. We stopped at Marina del Rey for a while and sat on the beach. We got to her house at maybe 2:30 or a little later; she invited me inside for a drink. And don't worry," he added quickly, "I settled for coffee. I left her house about 3:30 or 3:45 and came straight home. I didn't make a trip to Beverly Hills, and I didn't break into any houses. And I sure as hell didn't set up any deals with some goon to help me run out on you." He looked at Hardcastle, depression carved into his features. "I don't have proof to offer you, Judge. I don't know what else to say."

Hardcastle examined him thoughtfully. "If I assume that everything you're saying is absolutely true," he said slowly, "then that means someone is trying to set you up. Can you think of anyone who would want to do that?"

McCormick considered the phrasing of the question. Not really a resounding vote of confidence, but it was a start. "No," he answered sadly, "I really don't. I wish I could give you a list of people to consider, but, honestly, Judge, I haven't made all that many enemies." Again he flashed the quick grin. "Believe it or not, I'm a pretty likable guy."

Hardcastle felt his own grin forming in response. "That's really not that much of a stretch," he admitted. "Besides, I have to say that your file pretty much supports your answer. I didn't find anything that indicated any type of ongoing animosity with anyone."

That was another interesting comment, McCormick thought. He decided to pursue what he considered the most important point. "You keep a file on me?"

The judge's grin spread over his face. "That surprises you, kid? What is it you think we're doing here?"

"I thought your files were all the bad guys, Hardcase. It didn't really occur to me you might have one on me."

"Bothers you, does it?"

"Well…yeah, a little bit," McCormick admitted. "It's just another reminder that—" He broke off, realizing he was about to divulge more of his inner turmoil than he intended. He wasn't about to confess his confusion over this relationship. "Never mind."

"Another reminder that what, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked.

"Nothing," McCormick answered with a small shake of his head. "It doesn't matter; just kind of caught me off guard, that's all."

"I thought you were supposed to be coming clean with me," the judge reminded him.

"I've told you everything you need to know, Judge. Or at least everything I can think of that might be important. Let's not dwell on the other thing." The eyes were suddenly dull and empty, revealing nothing.

Hardcastle filed away that small insight: the eyes might not be able to lie, but they could shut down, effectively locking out the world. It occurred to him that a similar emptiness had undoubtedly been in his own eyes for much of the last ten years, and for many of the same reasons: sharing too much with others was a clear path to pain. Whatever McCormick was feeling about the file—or what the file represented—he would let it go. Besides, he didn't need the kid using him as a sounding board for his emotions; it wasn't like he was looking for them to be buddies.

"So," Hardcastle said finally, "what am I gonna do with you, McCormick? I can't have someone running around committing crimes while they're in my custody, you know."

McCormick responded to the light tone. "I can see where that would be a problem, Judge." He smiled his most engaging smile. "Tell me what I can do to make it better and I'll do it."

Hardcastle instinctively believed him, but he needed one last test. "What I think I need, kid, is to know that you are somewhere safely out of the way of any further manipulation…or maybe temptation."

The color drained from McCormick's face as he understood Hardcastle's comment. For just a moment he had been unprepared for the other shoe to drop, which only made it worse. "For how—how long?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Hardcastle admitted. "A lot of that depends on how the investigation goes."

"Will you be doing the investigating?"

The hopeful tone stopped Hardcastle, but he recovered quickly. "Of course," he replied. "You're in my custody, so that makes you my responsibility. I'll figure out what's going on."

"And when you find out it's not me, can I…can I come back?" McCormick hated to ask, knew he sounded weak, but he couldn't let pride keep him from the one thing that might actually help him get his life going in the right direction.

Hardcastle couldn't trust himself to look in the eyes now, knowing that one look would make it impossible for him to finish what he had started, and it had to be finished. He had to have proof, one way or the other. But, dammit, how could this be so hard? It hadn't even been a full month yet, so how could he feel so connected to this kid already? Besides, he was a hired assistant; it wasn't supposed to be more than that. And yet…

_Can I come_ _back?_ The words rang in the judge's ears, and he knew how difficult it would have been for McCormick to pose the question.

Hardcastle briefly considered one of the other things that had been keeping him up nights lately: even though bitterness and resentment were never far from the surface with McCormick, the kid was so willing to risk honesty, it was hard to harbor suspicions.

"Of course you can come back," he finally answered gruffly, unwilling to reveal any of his own emotions at the moment. "I told you, you don't get off so easy. Indefinitely usually means longer than a month you know, kiddo."

"Okay," McCormick replied softly. He glanced down at his tank top and shorts. "I need to shower and change first, if that's all right."

Hardcastle hated the dullness that came from McCormick now, but he pushed that thought aside. "Yeah, kid, it's all right. Do you want to have lunch before we go?"

McCormick shook his head. "I'm not really hungry." He started to rise from the chair, and then remembered why he had been directed to sit in the first place. He paused, and allowed his eyes to meet Hardcastle's.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you like that, Judge," he said simply, then stood and walked slowly toward the gatehouse.

Hardcastle watched the receding figure for a moment, but as soon as McCormick was out of earshot, he grabbed the phone. He had plans to make. He sure as hell didn't intend for the kid to be locked up long.

**00000**

They drove toward the police station in an uncomfortable silence. The judge was behind the wheel of his prized Corvette, and McCormick was turned away, staring at the passing scenery.

When he had first emerged from the gatehouse, McCormick had seemed almost normal. A bit subdued, but still engaged. He had asked to listen to the recorded message on the answering machine in the hopes of recognizing the voice, but he had not. Then, with a vicious complaint about jail food, he had decided maybe he should have a sandwich before leaving. He had carried his plate into the den and found a football game on television, but he had promised to only take a few minutes. Hardcastle had offered to let him stay and watch the entire game, but the young man had declined, muttering something about delaying the inevitable. Finally, he had excused himself to go back to the gatehouse for a minute, saying he couldn't go to jail with bologna breath.

Hardcastle had watched discreetly from the den window, and saw McCormick pause at the Coyote in the driveway. He had seen the longing in the young features as McCormick contemplated the freedom the car represented. He had gotten a little worried when McCormick pulled the keys out of his pocket and propped himself on the window opening of the sports car. And he had almost run from the house when he saw the ex-con actually slide completely into the driver's seat, but he had forced himself to wait. After a tense minute or two, he was relieved when he watched McCormick pull himself slowly back out of the car and resume his walk toward the gatehouse.

But when the young man returned that time and announced that he was ready to go, he had withdrawn into a protective shell. Hardcastle had made a couple of attempts at conversation as they first drove away from the estate, but the one word answers that still managed to be filled with complete misery were more than he could deal with, so he had decided to just keep quiet. It wasn't like he could really make this better for the kid, anyway, so they rode in silence.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the police station, Hardcastle thought that if McCormick got any more tense the kid might literally explode, but he still didn't have a way to make the situation easier. He climbed out of the 'Vette and had taken a few steps toward the building before he realized that McCormick hadn't moved. He sighed, and turned back to the car.

"McCormick, this isn't forever," he said as he squatted down beside the car.

"No," McCormick agreed sullenly, as he stared through the windshield. "I imagine it's only about three to ten. I figure I can be out in five with good behavior."

"McCormick," Hardcastle said forcefully, "look at me." He waited silently until the young man grudgingly turned his head.

"I don't need a pep talk, Judge."

"Good," Hardcastle growled, "'cause you're sure as hell not gonna get one."

McCormick felt a small smile forming in spite of his mood. "Okay, then what?"

The judge became serious. "Have you known me to sugar coat many things, kid?"

"Hardly," McCormick snorted.

"And I'm not now, either. If I was throwing in the towel, I'd tell you. I'm not sandbagging you here, McCormick. If everything you've told me is true, this will be a very temporary situation."

McCormick thought about that, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay." He took a breath. "Okay, I'm ready. Sorry, didn't mean to get all weird on you."

The judge grinned and slapped McCormick's arm as he stood up. "Not a problem, kid. We'll make this up as we go along."

McCormick followed the judge into the building, trying to hold on to the relative calm he had found in their brief conversation, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. This was wrong. How could he just allow himself to be led here so easily? He should have taken the Coyote when he had the chance. In fact, maybe it still wasn't too late. If he didn't take another step forward, he could probably make it back to the Corvette before Hardcastle could round up enough cops to stop him.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, McCormick knew he wouldn't do it. No matter what happened, he couldn't betray the man who walked in front of him, so confident that he was being followed. He wasn't quite certain why that was, but he knew it was true. He shook his head as he hurried to catch up with the judge. It was crazy, but somehow it was the only thing to do.

As they reached the junction in the corridor, McCormick turned left as Hardcastle started to the right. "Hey, Hardcase," McCormick called after him, "I'm sorry to have to be the tour guide here, but this is the way to booking and the cell block."

"Yes, but this is the way to the temporary holding cells," Hardcastle replied.

"I—I don't understand," McCormick said as he closed the distance between himself and the judge.

Hardcastle turned to face him. "McCormick," he explained patiently, "I told you I wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. If I run you through central booking, there's going to be all sorts of questions down at the parole board, and I don't have answers to those questions yet. I just need you contained for a while; I don't need a lot of bureaucrats telling me how I should be running my life. Or yours, for that matter."

McCormick flashed a genuine grin. "So let me get this straight. You're putting me in jail, but you're still trying to protect me?" He paused as he considered the other man thoughtfully. "You are definitely something else, Hardcase."

"Now you're cookin'." Hardcastle grinned, and led him down the hall.

The judge continued the conversation as they walked. "I've got a lot of friends here, kid, and one of 'em is going to help us out for a while; you can trust him."

"Friends here, huh?" McCormick replied. "Well, that makes one of us." He stopped suddenly, just barely managing to avoid running into Hardcastle, who had stopped at one of the office doors. He read the name on the doorplate. "This Lieutenant Harper the guy we're here to see?"

"Yep. Now, listen…about this holding cell. I told you why I don't want to process you through channels, but this could take a while, and you're gonna be in there all alone. You gonna be okay with that?"

McCormick glanced sideways at him. "If I say no, will you take me back home?" For just a moment, he thought he saw a flash of guilt in the judge's eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the silent stubbornness of one accustomed to getting what he wants. "All right," he went on, "in that case, yeah, I'll be fine with it. It's not like jail is exactly a social scene, anyway, Judge. One cell is really about the same as another."

"I don't know about that, McCormick," Hardcastle contradicted. "You ever spent any time in solitary?"

The usually friendly face hardened suddenly, and emptiness settled into the blue eyes.

"Once or twice," McCormick answered, his wooden tone forbidding further discussion.

Hardcastle nodded somberly. "Okay, then you have some idea what to expect. That usually makes it a little easier. It won't be nearly that bad, of course, because Frank will stop in to see you now and again. And, of course, the room isn't exactly the same either; bigger, and much more comfortable, I would assume. Mostly, I just wanted you to be prepared."

McCormick found that he appreciated Hardcastle's concern. Someday, he might even tell him that. But for now, "I'll be fine, Hardcase. I'm pretty sure I can take anything you can dish out."

"Yeah, whatever you say, kid," Hardcastle harrumphed as he knocked on the office door. Hearing the answering voice, the judge issued a single command. "Behave yourself, hotshot. Harper's one of the good guys." He opened the door and led the way inside, not seeing McCormick's rolling eyes behind him, but knowing they were there, just the same.

**00000**

"Frank, this is Mark McCormick. McCormick, Frank Harper," Hardcastle performed the introductions.

McCormick was sizing up the detective behind the desk, and he was immediately astonished when Harper rose from his chair and offered his hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. McCormick," Harper said.

McCormick extended his own hand. "You, too, Lieutenant," he replied. "The judge tells me you're going to be helping us out, so I guess a thank you is in order." He saw Hardcastle's quiet look of approval, and smiled to himself.

Harper seemed surprised. "I wouldn't have expected you to consider it much of a help," he stated, "but you're welcome all the same."

McCormick shrugged fractionally. "I know it could be worse," he said truthfully.

"So, Frank, did you find someone like I asked?" Hardcastle broke in. He dropped into a chair in front of the desk, as Harper re-seated himself. He motioned at the other empty chair, but McCormick waved it off, and leaned himself against the wall next to the file cabinet.

"Yes, Milt," Harper replied affably, "I found someone. Let me get him down here."

As the lieutenant picked up the phone and made a quick call, McCormick took the opportunity to observe him further. The man was shorter than the judge, a bit younger, and considerably more amiable. His round face seemed to have been lined with frequent laughter, and he was obviously comfortable in his position. He made his call to summon someone else to the office, and then engaged in companionable conversation with Hardcastle. He didn't seem at all concerned with an ex-convict hanging out in his office, and McCormick was still impressed with the basic decency of the handshake. In his experience, most cops didn't take the time to be polite to cons, ex or otherwise. Typically, you were lucky to get civil; polite was really beyond expectation. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be surprised. Hardcastle was nowhere near a typical jurist; why would he befriend a typical cop?

He was still evaluating the lieutenant when he heard the knock on the door. Harper invited the visitor in, and McCormick was startled by what he saw walking through the door. Clad in jeans and a tee shirt, the man entering the room could have been his brother. About his age and his height, but a bit stockier—more muscular, really, he admitted to himself—curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a decent tan. He focused in on Harper's voice; he wanted to know what was going on.

"This is Officer Bill Wilde," the lieutenant introduced. "Bill, this is Judge Hardcastle and Mark McCormick."

"Good to meet you both," Wilde replied. He glanced at the judge. "Lieutenant Harper says you've got some work for me?"

Hardcastle nodded. "I just need you around my place for a while. I need someone to stand in for McCormick over there."

Wilde simply nodded. "Okay." He was too good an officer to ask why.

Mark McCormick had no such restrictions, however. "What's up, Judge?"

"If you expect someone to keep telling me about all your misdeeds, don't you think it would be helpful if they believed you were still free to perform them?" Hardcastle asked logically.

"You think someone's watching me?" McCormick didn't seem to consider the idea very likely.

Hardcastle faced the younger man squarely. "I figure we've only got two options, kiddo. Either someone is watching you so they will know when—and when not—to accuse you, or…" he trailed off, letting McCormick figure out the second option.

"Yeah, yeah," McCormick responded bitterly, "I got it. It's either that or they can accuse me because they really know when I actually committed the crimes. All right…someone must be watching me."

"Thought you might see it my way," the judge said as he turned his attention back to the two police officers. "So, Wilde, I just need you to hang around my house, do a few minor chores to keep up appearances," he ignored the sarcastic snort from behind him, "and occasionally run some errands so that you can be seen around town." He grinned maliciously as he dropped the last bomb: "I think you'll really like the sports car."

McCormick glanced up sharply. "Judge…"

"Something to say, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked, the tone almost daring the ex-con to object to the plan.

McCormick slumped back against the wall, his cold eyes drilling into the judge. "No, Hardcase, not a thing." He saw the quick grin exchanged between Hardcastle and the lieutenant, and just shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable; it wasn't like they were going to hurt the car, after all. And he knew without being told that it was probably the car that was actually being watched; the physical similarities with his stand-in were just the finishing touches on the plan. But he didn't like the judge having such fun at his expense. Someday he might tell him that, too.

McCormick forced his mind to focus on the conversation that was continuing without him. He heard Wilde telling the judge that he could be ready within the hour, and he felt his tension rising again. Not much longer now. He allowed the conversation to drift to the background again and focused instead on maintaining enough control to stay put rather than bolting from the office. After a few more minutes, he realized that the others were rising from their chairs. That was undoubtedly his cue, too, but he would wait for specific instructions.

Wilde left the room, and McCormick felt Hardcastle's attention on him again. He glanced over at the judge, and was surprised at the concern in the eyes. He forced a calmness he didn't feel into his voice. "I'm fine, Judge. I just hope this works."

"No reason it shouldn't," Hardcastle assured him. "So you ready?"

McCormick nodded and pushed himself away from the wall.

Emerging from behind his desk, Harper addressed the young man. "I know this is a bit unofficial, Mr. McCormick," he began, "but there are still some rules for the holding cells. Are you wearing any jewelry?"

"No."

"McCormick," Hardcastle growled a low warning, "that includes the medallion."

Without looking at the judge, McCormick tugged on the collar of his shirt, revealing a bare neck; the ever-present Saint Jude medallion had been safely packed away back at the gatehouse.

"This isn't the first time you've invited me to this slumber party, Judge," he said. "I know the drill."

Hardcastle grimaced at the bitterness in the tone, but Harper spoke again before the judge could be baited into an argument. "What about your pockets? Anything?"

"No," McCormick answered again, "but I'm sure you'd like to check that out for yourself." He raised his arms away from his body and allowed Harper to do a quick pat down.

"Okay," the lieutenant said, "if you guys will come with me…." He led them from the office and down the corridor to the nearest temporary cell. He opened the door inward, and stepped aside.

McCormick paused, seeing the interior of the small room from the hallway. The dull grayness that emanated from inside the doorway sent a chill to his soul. He flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"This is what I'm dishing out, kiddo," Hardcastle said, a quiet challenge in his tone.

With a glare at the judge, McCormick jerked away and stepped deliberately into the cell.

"Okay, McCormick, I'll be back as soon as I can," the judge told him.

"I'll be here," McCormick answered. He saw the door being closed, and knew he had to ask the question that raged in his mind. "Judge? What if they don't call?"

Hardcastle stopped the door momentarily. "Then I'll be disappointed," he said, surprising them both with the simple honesty of the answer. "And for what it's worth…I'll be very surprised." He saw McCormick's eyes widen in surprise as he pulled the door closed behind him.

"It's worth more than you know, Hardcase," McCormick whispered to the empty room, "but I'll be damned if I know why."

**00000**

As McCormick was settling into his new—but familiar—surroundings, Hardcastle and Harper were in the detective's office waiting for Wilde to return.

"I am not getting soft!" Hardcastle was insisting indignantly. "All I said was I wanted you to take care of him. We do still take care of prisoners in our custody, don't we? Or has something changed since I retired?"

Harper grinned. "Nothing's changed around _here_, but I'm not so sure about _you_." He ignored the glare from Hardcastle and continued. "The kid was throwing a lot of attitude your direction, and you just let him get away with it. Never thought I'd see the day when old Hardcase got taken in by a pair of puppy dog eyes."

"Look," the judge tried to explain, "he's in my custody. I'm supposed to be watching after him; it's part of my judicial responsibility."

"Whatever you say, Milt," Harper laughed at the other man's obvious discomfort.

"Frank." The suddenly serious tone of Hardcastle's voice got Harper's attention immediately. But other than the single word, the judge was strangely silent.

After a moment, Harper spoke. "Milt? What is it?"

"I don't know," Hardcastle admitted. "I'm pretty sure he's innocent…."

"Which is why he's over here instead of at the other end of the building," Harper reminded him. He observed his old friend closely. "You're not feeling guilty about this?"

Hardcastle met his eyes. "It's not my job to put innocent guys in jail, Frank. Though McCormick, of course, has a different view of things."

Frank laughed slightly, then sobered immediately. "Milt, listen to me. The kid's only on parole for six months when he's out stealing cars again. Then, a month after you arrange the best break he's ever gonna get, you've got someone telling you he's out burglarizing a variety of places and planning to skip out on you. And, finally, when you ask him about it, the only explanations he can come up with just corroborate his guilt. Honestly, anyone else would've had him back inside so fast his head would still be spinning. You've got a right to be more than 'pretty sure,' Milt, and we both know it."

"Yeah, I know," Hardcastle agreed softly. "And I think he knows it, too, whatever _that's_ all about. Kid makes me crazy." He gave a brief laugh. "Maybe I am getting soft, but take care of him for me, anyway, will ya, Frank? No sense teaching someone else how to clean the pool and all if I don't have to."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter3**

Wilde gave a low whistle as they cruised up the drive at Gull's Way. "This is your place, huh, Judge?"

Hardcastle grinned as he glanced at his passenger. Did all kids have that same reaction to his house? "You're not going to tell me anything about studying psychology with Charlie Manson, are you?" he asked, remembering McCormick's comments the first time he had arrived at the estate.

"What?"

"Forget it." Trying to explain McCormick's rather warped sense of humor would definitely lose something in the translation. He parked the car in the drive for the moment and climbed out. He retrieved Wilde's duffel bag from the trunk and tossed it to the officer.

"C'mon, I'll open up the gatehouse. I'm sure McCormick left his keys in there."

"Gatehouse?" Wilde asked as he followed the judge. "McCormick gets his own house?" The disbelief was evident in his tone, and he was only half joking when he asked, "Whatever happened to crime doesn't pay?"

Hardcastle stopped suddenly and whirled on the officer. "Something you want to say, Wilde?" His tone was unexpectedly low with an undisguised fury, his face carved in stone, and every muscle in his body was tensed.

"No, sir," Wilde replied, immediately all business. He had only transferred to L.A. a few years earlier, but Hardcastle was practically a legend…and the legendary tales rarely had happy endings for anyone who crossed him. Having never met the judge personally, Wilde had been inclined to believe that the stories had been exaggerated. Feeling the weight of the cold stare on him now, however, he wondered if maybe some of the more gruesome parts hadn't actually been edited out. "No, sir," he repeated, "nothing at all. Sorry, sir." He breathed a silent sigh of relief when the judge turned and resumed his approach to the gatehouse. As he followed the stomping jurist, Wilde could hear him muttering under his breath—something about kids needing their butts kicked from here down to Seagull Beach—and wondered briefly if McCormick might not be better off in prison.

In his anger, Hardcastle had hurried away from the young officer, but he stopped suddenly, holding up a warning hand, and Wilde came to an immediate stop at his side.

"Got your weapon?" Hardcastle whispered, as he pointed at the gatehouse door standing wide open.

Wilde nodded, and pulled the gun from its holster.

Hardcastle was cursing himself for being unarmed when he knew good and well something strange was going on, but he had been unwilling to carry a gun when he drove McCormick to the station. He hadn't really understood the feeling, but he had heeded it. And he was regretting it now.

With a mental shrug, the judge motioned for Wilde to stay alert, and he peered cautiously through the open door. Seeing nothing in the living area, he led the way over the threshold. He started toward the stairway, trying to be as stealthy as possible, though he realized the wide-open floor plan didn't really lend itself to remaining inconspicuous.

Hardcastle had reached the bottom step when he felt something drop over him, shutting out the lights. "What the hell?" Immediately, there was activity coming from both sides, and he struggled to free himself from the cloth draping over his head. He heard Wilde's identification and warning from behind him and the startled gasp coming from above him. "Hold it!" he shouted, understanding the situation immediately.

"Wilde, put your gun down!" Hardcastle finally managed to free himself from the tangle of bed sheets. "And, Sarah, get down here!" He retreated to the main living area and waited for the others to join him.

When they were gathered, Hardcastle introduced them. "Wilde, this is my friend, Sarah Wicks; she holds this place together for me. Sarah, this is Officer Bill Wilde; he's going to be staying here in the gatehouse for a while." The two exchanged their greetings, and Hardcastle turned his attention back to his housekeeper.

"Sarah, what are you doing here, anyway? I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow."

"The weather reports said there was a storm blowing in late tonight, Your Honor, and it's not expected to move out until mid-day tomorrow. I didn't want to make the trip in the weather. Anyway," Sarah continued, "since I'm here, I'll go ahead and set up the fold-out bed for Mr. Wilde."

"Don't bother," Hardcastle instructed, "he can use the bed upstairs. Apparently, it's getting fresh sheets anyway, though I'm pretty sure I told you just last week not to be coming over here babying McCormick. If he wants his sheets washed, he can sure as hell drag them over to the house himself."

Sarah glanced quickly at Wilde, suspicion dawning in her eyes. "Where is Mark?" she asked, ignoring Hardcastle's laundry instructions much as she had ignored them the previous week. She was surprised to see the discomfort that suddenly came over the judge.

"He's not here right now, Sarah. We'll talk about it later at the house."

"Is he all right?" Sarah didn't mind waiting for other details, but she wanted that answer immediately.

"He's fine, Sarah," Hardcastle replied. "I'll be over in just a bit and explain everything."

"Very well, Judge. It will just take me a minute to finish the bed." The seriousness in her tone made it clear she wasn't pleased with the task, even though she had been willingly doing it for McCormick just moments before.

"Never mind, Sarah, we'll take care of it."

"Yes," Wilde chimed in, "I can get it."

Sarah looked at the newcomer severely. "That's fine, Mr. Wilde. You'll find everything you need upstairs, and I've already replaced the linens in the bathroom."

"Thank you," the officer answered. "I'll be careful with McCormick's things," he added, somehow feeling that might be important to this woman.

Sarah just sniffed and left the gatehouse without further comment.

Hardcastle turned to Wilde with a grin. "I don't think she likes you."

"No," the younger man agreed, "I don't think so. Is she close with McCormick?"

"Not exactly," the judge replied, not bothering to offer further explanation. He clapped his hands together suddenly. "Now here's the plan," he said eagerly. "You get settled in here for a bit, maybe wander around the grounds, you know, just get to know your way around. Come on over to the house about six and we'll have dinner. Then maybe you can go out for a while tonight. If we get lucky, maybe this will be over by tomorrow."

Wilde nodded. Hardcastle had filled him in on the situation as they made the drive to Malibu. He didn't understand why the judge seemed to have trouble believing the ex-convict was really guilty of the crimes, but this little decoy assignment looked to be shaping up into a pretty cushy gig, so he could certainly go along. Besides, he seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot with Hardcastle, and that didn't feel like a good place to be. So if he could help the man work this out, Wilde would feel much, much better.

**00000**

Hardcastle entered the house and headed directly for the basement to drop off the linens he had carried over from the gatehouse. Then he returned upstairs, wondering how best to explain about McCormick. Sarah was one of the few people allowed to speak her mind entirely to the judge and, consequently, one of the few people who could make him really question his own behavior. He was doing enough of that already without someone else adding to it. But he was a firm believer in taking responsibility for your own actions, so he walked into the kitchen.

Sarah was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables for the stew that was already smoldering on the stovetop. "I've got cornbread in the oven," she commented as Hardcastle sniffed the stew pot. "I thought something warm might be nice since it's cooling off a bit. And," she added pointedly, "when I started, I had thought Mark might enjoy it." She looked at Hardcastle sadly.

"Have we lost him already?"

Hardcastle stood across the island counter and patted her hand. "No, Sarah, we haven't lost him. At least, I don't think so. But I had to put him back in jail for a little while."

Sarah looked at him in confusion. "You're not making any sense. Why don't you tell me what happened this weekend?"

Hardcastle briefly elaborated on the phone calls he had received, as well as giving a synopsis of McCormick's own explanations, or lack thereof. He ended by explaining why there was a stranger living in the gatehouse temporarily. "I'm hoping that Wilde will make a passable substitute for McCormick so that the accusations will continue even while he's in jail. That way, I will know for sure."

Sarah carried the last of the vegetables to the stove, and turned back to face her employer. "Do you really think there's a chance Mark's guilty?"

He met her gaze. "A chance? Absolutely. But I think it's a slim one."

Sarah's eyes flared with sudden anger. "Then you're being foolish, Milton Hardcastle. Don't you know how hard he's been trying? If he were going to continue being a criminal—which I don't think he would—this is not the way he would do it. As long as he's in this house, Your Honor, he's going to be doing exactly as you ask."

Hardcastle sighed deeply. "That's mostly what I think, too, Sarah, but I have to be sure. You know, it's easy for you: you simply get to know him and decide he's a good kid, and make your decisions based on your emotions. I almost envy you.

"But I've seen too much, Sarah. Too many kids just like him with their bright smiles and easy laughs, only to find out that it was all an act." He hesitated, then continued, hating to make the admission, but needing her to understand. "Even the ones who've come here, Sarah…most of them fooled me. He's a likeable kid, Sarah; I'm not denying it. And he seems so sincere, but…." His voice trailed off, his uncertainty written on his face.

The housekeeper softened immediately. "They didn't fool you, Your Honor. You just tried to give them a chance, even when you knew they probably didn't deserve it. But Mark is different, Judge, and you know it. You're trying to be cautious because you think that you should, but deep down, you know that you don't have to be this time. This time, it will work." She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, then made her argument. "It will work," she repeated, "if you let it. Don't turn your back on him, Judge Hardcastle. You need to go bring him home."

Hardcastle studied her intently, knowing she meant the best, but still amazed by her defense of McCormick. Sarah had never been overly fond of his rehabilitation project, and she had been dead set against his plan to continue working after retirement. And the night he had brought McCormick home and insisted he be put up in the gatehouse rather than the gardener's trailer…he knew Sarah believed then that he had completely lost his mind. And yet, somehow McCormick had gotten to her almost immediately, and not a month later, here she was defending the kid. Telling him flat out to his face that he was wrong. She was rarely so blunt, so Hardcastle knew he must have screwed up royally. Even so….

"Not yet, Sarah," he said firmly. "Besides, McCormick understands."

She sniffed at his rationalization. "Understands that you don't trust him? That's a great way to start a partnership."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "No, Sarah, it isn't, but it will be okay. I'll make it up to the kid later. Now, I'll set the table and you can tell me all about your weekend, okay?"

Understanding that the discussion was closed—and knowing she could re-open it at another time—she returned his smile. "Well, you know, we had great weather…"

**00000**

McCormick sat on the bed, his arms circled around his legs pulled up to his chest, and his head resting on his knees. He had already done enough pacing for one day, and he had resigned himself to sitting several hours ago. Really, he would have liked to just go to sleep and forget it all for a while, but he knew it would be late in the night before he was exhausted enough to sleep in the cell. And even though he had dismissed Hardcastle's concern over the isolation stand point, he would have vastly preferred the cell block to this holding room; at least there would've been someone to talk to. Oh, well. _This isn't_ _forever_, he kept reminding himself. Even so, hadn't he started this day knowing that this was the last place on earth he wanted to be? Someday he would learn when to keep his mouth shut.

When he heard the door open without warning, he raised his head, but knew better than to surprise his visitor by jumping to his feet. He felt his hopes fall just a bit when he realized it was Lieutenant Harper entering the room, but he brushed the feeling aside. He knew it was too soon for Hardcastle to be back, and just sitting here waiting and hoping wasn't going to do one bit of good for his sanity. Seeing that the lieutenant had his hands full, he rose slowly.

"Let me give you a hand, Lieutenant."

"How are you doing, Mr. McCormick?" Harper greeted as he handed McCormick a stack of denim clothing and a small bag of personal toiletries. "I brought you some basic necessities."

McCormick smiled slightly as he took the items, still impressed with the detective. "I'm okay, Lieutenant, thanks for asking. And thanks for the stuff…though I'm hoping I won't need a lot of it."

Harper grinned at him. "I'm not making assumptions, I just figured as long as I was grabbing supplies, I'd get enough to last a while. It wouldn't bother me at all to have to take them back."

After McCormick had placed the clothing neatly on the foot of the bed, Harper held out a small sack and a paper cup. "Milt said you liked Burger Man, and the beauty of these multi-purpose rooms is that you even get a table to eat at."

"Yeah," McCormick laughed as he took the offered meal, "it's a regular Ritz Carlton." He glanced quickly at the lieutenant. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling his face redden; he hadn't meant to run his mouth to this man.

"It's okay," Harper assured him. "I certainly understand the limitations of the accommodations."

McCormick relaxed and placed the food on the table in the interrogation area of the small room. He grabbed a fry from the bag and folded it into his mouth. "Almost like home," he grinned.

"Okay," Harper said, "do you need anything else before I go?"

McCormick resisted the impulse to ask for a key to the door. "Nope. Thanks again."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. McCormick."

McCormick nodded, and moved further away from the door. "Good night, Lieutenant." The words reminded him of something. "By the way," he continued before Harper turned away, "what time is it, anyway?"

"About 7:40," the officer replied with a glance at his watch.

"Okay, thanks. You kinda lose track in here, ya know? I try to keep a rough idea, though. Keeps you from going too loopy."

Harper hadn't really thought about that before, but he could understand. He nodded, and wished McCormick a good night as he walked out the door.

McCormick watched him go, and then turned immediately to his dinner, grateful that Hardcastle had apparently instructed Harper to bring double everything. A bologna sandwich could only carry you so far, after all.

**00000**

"_Okay, Milt,"_ Harper's voice said through the phone receiver, _"he's all tucked in for the night."_

"Is he doing all right?" Hardcastle asked.

The police officer snorted. _"If he can handle a couple of years in maximum security, I'm pretty sure he's not gonna fall apart after a few hours here."_

"Of course not," Hardcastle replied indignantly. "I just meant, is he behaving? I don't want him to make things worse for himself while he's there."

"_Oh, okay,"_ Harper said in his most conciliatory tone, _"I guess I misunderstood your meaning." _He grinned, knowing that Hardcastle didn't expect him to believe the cover story. _"And, yes, he is behaving himself. He's a pretty well-mannered kid, really. You sure you found him in Quentin?"_

"Well-mannered?" The judge was incredulous. "McCormick? Are you sure you didn't end up with another decoy in your cell, Frank?"

Frank laughed. _"Well, you know how kids are…always the angel when they're away from home. And speaking of which…how's my little angel doing out there?"_

Hardcastle gave a brief laugh. "He's feeling a little bit brought down to size right now, but I think he'll be fine."

"_What did you do to him, Milt?"_

"It wasn't me," the judge replied, pretending to be hurt. "I only asked him to drive down the highway for a while to make his presence known, but that car of McCormick's is something of a monster. Wilde had to take it for a few spins around the driveway before he got over the bunny hopping. I don't think it did much for his ego, but he'll survive." He smiled to himself, replaying the image in his head. It served the young man right, really, considering his earlier comment about McCormick's arrangements at Gull's Way.

Harper laughed lightly. _"Well, okay. I guess it sounds like both our boys can take care of themselves, so I'm gonna head out of here for the night. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Milt."_

Hardcastle hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair, listening to the wind pick up outside. He hoped Wilde would remember his instructions to only be out a couple of hours; he didn't think the officer's driving skills were up to the challenge of the Coyote in a rainstorm just yet. He was laughing again as he headed to the other room for popcorn.

**00000**

Mark McCormick stood at the small metal sink and splashed the cold water on his face again. It wasn't that he really wanted to be awake, but he knew he was going to be, anyway, so he would prefer to look a little better than he felt. He looked closely at his reflection in the mirror—thankful that Harper had smuggled him a decent razor—and decided the bags weren't too bad yet.

After the morning ritual, he pulled on one of the jail-issued denim shirts. He would have preferred his own clothes, but he had known it would be better to save those for returning home. Since it had already been a day and a half—and two very long nights—he was glad he had decided to go ahead and change. Feeling as refreshed as he was likely to get, McCormick decided to start his day in the chair at the table. He rested his face in his hands, wondering if he would get to go home today.

The first day in the cell had been hard, mostly because he had been so upset by the whole idea of it, but it had only been a few hours. And, of course, the long night. But the second day had seemed eternal. Frank Harper had been by three times to bring him food from the cafeteria, but other than that, he had been alone. Each time the detective had visited the room, McCormick had checked the time, and he had been discouraged to find that his guesses had gotten further from the truth as the day wore on. At this point, he had no idea how long he had actually been in the small room, and it scared him just a little bit. All in all, he was beginning to wish he'd taken his chances with general population and the parole board.

McCormick was at the table for a long time—though he wouldn't be able to say how long—then moved back to the cot. Feeling tired, he had stretched out, hoping that he would be able to rest, but so far that wasn't happening. Now, he heard the doorknob beginning to turn, but he didn't have the energy to get up, and he figured Harper wouldn't care one way or the other, anyway.

"Mr. McCormick?"

"Yeah, Lieutenant?" McCormick didn't even open his eyes.

"There's someone here who'd like to see you."

McCormick sat up then, anxious. He looked at Harper quizzically, then saw a small gray head poking from behind the officer.

"Sarah!" McCormick was so excited to see the housekeeper that he jumped off the bed and rushed to her. He grabbed her up—causing her to give a small yelp of surprise—and swung her around joyfully before he placed her safely back on the floor.

"McCormick!" Harper's stern voice cut through his short-lived happiness.

Looking around to determine what had suddenly upset the lieutenant, McCormick realized that he had whirled himself right into the open doorway. Too bad it had never been so easy to break out of any of the other cells he'd found himself in over the years.

Wearing an embarrassed grin, he stepped purposefully back into the room. "Sorry, Lieutenant, it was an accident." He moved back to the small table and seated himself. "I'm not going anywhere." Only then did he see Harper relax, and only then did he notice that Sarah was very tense. He slowly got back on his feet and moved to stand next to her.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said gently. "Come sit down with me; it will make Lieutenant Harper much happier." He threw a quick grin at the lieutenant to prove that no offense was intended.

Harper smiled as he watched McCormick hold a chair for the woman. "I'll be back in about half an hour, Sarah. McCormick…."

The prisoner held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I'll behave. Can't have you sending bad reports back home to the judge."

Harper laughed slightly. "Good to know." He started out the door, then stopped again. "Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a little present." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small square, and tossed it over to McCormick.

McCormick grabbed the small box out of the air, and looked at it uncertainly. He examined it a second, then pulled it open to reveal a tiny travel clock. He looked back up at Harper sharply, a deep gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said simply.

"Can't have you getting 'loopy' on me," Harper said with a grin. "Hardcastle says it's my job to take care of you." With those words, he disappeared out the door.

McCormick dropped into the chair across from Sarah, stunned. He looked at the clock, and shook his head. Such a simple thing, but in many ways such a grand gesture. He looked up at Sarah. "The judge said Harper was one of the good guys," he said softly.

"He is," Sarah confirmed. She looked at the clock, then patted McCormick's hand. "I don't know what that was all about, Mark, but it obviously was important to you, and I am not at all surprised that Lieutenant Harper understood that. You know, he and Judge Hardcastle are very similar in many ways."

"Hah!" McCormick grunted. "Don't know who you're trying to fool with that load of malarkey, Sarah, but I'm not buying." He paused then, and met her eyes. "I appreciate you coming, Sarah. Really."

She smiled gently at the young man. "We were worried about you."

"You mean _you_ were worried, Sarah, and you're just trying to make the judge look good by association. Sorry, but still no sale."

"He really has been worried, Mark."

McCormick shook his head. "He may be worried about his project. And he might be concerned that he'll have to haul his butt back down to the parole board to find someone else to shanghai. And…he might even be feeling just a little bit guilty about this whole thing. Maybe. But he absolutely is _not_ worried about _me_."

He spoke with confidence, though the tiniest of voices whispered disagreement in his mind. He couldn't deny that Hardcastle had demonstrated a few moments of compassion, but he didn't have to dwell on those few moments, either. Honestly, it had been much simpler when he could keep the judge in a nice dark corner of his mind and just take him out and spit on him once in a while.

Sarah looked at him disapprovingly. "I was going to give you the breakfast I brought, young man, but with that kind of an attitude, I might just let you do without. Honestly, Mark, sometimes I don't know which one of you is more stubborn."

McCormick smirked. "If you really think it's even close to a contest, Sarah, you haven't been living in the same house I have. At my most hardheaded, I am running a distant second to Hardcase Hardcastle. That man needs an outfit with a cape and a capital 'D'. Super Donkey to the rescue." He stopped himself before he could really get rolling. "But…did you really bring me breakfast?"

She laughed at his sudden change in subject. "Yes, I did. I don't imagine it's quite as good as new, but Lieutenant Harper did let me use a microwave to heat it up again." She opened her large purse and brought out two sealed plastic containers, a small thermos, a fork, and napkins.

McCormick grinned as he pulled the items toward him greedily. He opened the containers and found scrambled eggs and sausage in one and a couple of homemade biscuits in the other. He grabbed the fork and took an eager bite, then reminded himself not to rush. As he worked on the eggs, Sarah opened the thermos and poured a cup of coffee.

"Sarah, you are the best," McCormick commented between bites. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Hard time?" she suggested mildly.

McCormick almost let his coffee spurt across the room at the woman's dry response.

"Sarah! Did you just make a joke?" He giggled at her innocent face. "You're killin' me here." He took another drink of coffee, then spoke again. It was good to have someone to talk to.

"How was your trip last weekend? The judge said you were visiting friends."

"Yes. One of my dearest friends lives up in Santa Maria, and we needed a girl's weekend." She paused before speaking again. "But I'm sure my weekend isn't really the most important thing on your mind, Mark."

"You might be surprised," he replied. "I do have a lot of interests." He placed one of the sausage patties into a biscuit and took a bite of his sandwich before asking the question that was really weighing on his mind.

"Has the judge found out anything yet?"

Sarah shook her head sadly. "Not really. He tried to talk to your girlfriend, but she's apparently out of town. He went to that pawn shop, and the house that was burglarized. And he's spoken to every police officer involved in both investigations, as well as some of your friends down at the racetrack, but he says there's no lead anywhere. He did say, though, that there really isn't anything to connect the two crimes together, either, and he thinks that's a good thing."

"Have there been any more phone calls?"

"No, Mark, there haven't. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It really hasn't been that long, but still…I wonder how long he'll wait?"

"What do you mean?" Sarah was confused.

"The calls could just stop forever," McCormick explained. "If someone was trying to set me up, they've already done enough damage. If they don't call again, Hardcastle will send me back to Quentin for sure. I just don't know how long he'll wait before he makes that decision."

Sarah looked at the young man sharply. "Judge Hardcastle does not send innocent people to prison, Mark," she replied indignantly.

McCormick looked at her levelly. "We might have to agree to disagree on that topic, Sarah. Besides, what about right now? Are you telling me you think I pulled those robberies?"

"Of course not, but this is hardly San Quentin, and I notice the judge is trying to make this situation as bearable as possible."

He smiled slightly as he ate the last of his biscuit. "I suppose. At least he let you come visit me."

"My visit was the second choice; I wanted him to come and bring you home."

McCormick reached across the table and took the woman's hand. "He has to do this, Sarah; he has to be sure. I need him to be sure." He tried to explain. "You know, this isn't like the occasional restless night when he wonders if I'm gonna take off down the PCH and never come back; not like the mild distrust that I know stays in the back of his mind just because he doesn't know me yet. We could both live with that kind of vague uncertainty for a while, and it serves him right, anyway, for dragging me into this crazy scheme of his.

"But this is different, Sarah. He's got specific doubts about me now, specific crimes he thinks I committed. Or _might've _committed, or _could've_ committed, or whatever it is that he thinks. I can't live with that any more than he can. If I'm really going to work with him, he has to know that he can at least trust me not to be running around breaking all sorts of laws. I just hope this plan of his works."

Sarah smiled up at him. "The judge said you understood."

"I do," McCormick answered, returning her smile. "I don't like it, but I do understand it. So," he said cheerfully, quickly changing the subject, "how's that cop treating my car?"

"He's treating the car just fine," Sarah replied with a laugh, "but I'm not sure the car is doing much for him."

"I should've warned him," McCormick said sheepishly, "and given him a few pointers." He grinned at the housekeeper. "But I was annoyed that Hardcastle didn't tell me about his plan, so I didn't want to make it easy on anyone."

"He'll survive," Sarah assured him. "Besides, Judge Hardcastle seems to find it rather amusing."

"Glad somebody could get some entertainment out of this situation," McCormick muttered as he ate the last of his breakfast. "I'd hate for the judge to be bored."

He replaced the lids on the containers, and wiped the fork with the napkin, then leaned back in the chair, sipping on his coffee. "That was great, Sarah. You should get a job in the kitchen here; you'd make a lot of guys very happy."

"And just who would take care of you and the judge if I did that?"

He grinned. "Okay, you got a point there."

They sat for a while in companionable silence while McCormick enjoyed the warm coffee, wishing he had a way to make the visit last. It was completely unfair, he thought, that the hours alone dragged on forever, but this half hour with Sarah was flying by at the speed of light.

Sarah caught him looking wistfully at the clock and knew McCormick was counting down the minutes. "I can come back anytime," she told him.

McCormick looked at her with a small, lop-sided grin. "That's okay, Sarah. It's a long drive. Besides, I don't think I'll be here all that much longer…one way or the other."

"You'll be home soon, Mark; I'm sure of it. Judge Hardcastle is not going to let you go back to prison for something you didn't do."

"If you say so, Sarah." Clearly, McCormick was not convinced, but he smiled at the sincere woman. "You just keep reminding him of that, would you?"

"He doesn't need reminding, Mark," Sarah said as she began packing up the dishes, "but I'll keep it up, anyway."

They lapsed into another moment of silence, and McCormick started when he heard the doorknob turning. "Looks like time is up," he commented unnecessarily. He grinned at Sarah, not wanting her to worry. "I'll try not to worry the lieutenant this time around."

"The lieutenant would appreciate that," came the response from the door as Harper entered the room.

McCormick rose slowly with Sarah, and gave her a quick hug. "Thanks so much, Sarah."

She smiled at him. "Is there anything you want me to tell the judge?"

A million responses leapt immediately into McCormick's mind, but none of them were appropriate for relaying through Sarah, so he clamped his mouth shut tightly.

The woman saw the merriment dancing in the ex-con's eyes, and slapped his arm playfully. "Mark! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Hey," he said defensively, "at least I didn't say anything! A guy's still allowed to think, isn't he?"

Harper laughed at the exchange. "I think he's got you there, Sarah. Even Milt couldn't make a case against him for thinking."

Sarah smiled, and clarified her question. "Do you have any messages I would be willing to give the judge?"

"Actually, yeah," McCormick replied finally. "Tell him not to forget about Billy Joel." With those final words, he stepped away from Sarah, and watched as Harper escorted her from the room.

**00000**

"Hah!" Hardcastle snorted as Sarah relayed the message. "He's been singing that same song as long as I've known him. He should work out some new material."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked. She had not questioned McCormick about his unusual message, but Hardcastle's response had piqued her curiosity.

Hardcastle waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, the kid says he's innocent."

"I thought you believed that?" The housekeeper was becoming confused.

"Not just now, Sarah," the judge explained, "but even before, when I sentenced him to prison. It's why he resents me so much."

The housekeeper examined him thoughtfully. "He'll get over the resentment, Your Honor. But was he? Innocent?"

"Not legally."

"That's a very precise answer, Judge Hardcastle." She thought for a moment. "What about morally? Was he morally innocent?"

Hardcastle met her eyes. "Probably."

Sarah was shocked. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"I don't make the rules, Sarah. McCormick made some wrong choices that landed him on the wrong side of the law. The jury had to convict, and I had to pass sentence; that's the way the system works."

"The system works by putting innocent men in prison?"

"He broke the law, Sarah," Hardcastle said strongly. "That doesn't make him innocent."

"It doesn't make him a criminal, either," Sarah shot back.

Hardcastle shook his head. "You don't understand. Laws were broken and a price had to be paid. Besides, it's not like he came up before me on his very first offense, you know. He'd done a lot of stupid things in his life that snowballed on him and rolled him right into San Quentin. If you can ever catch him when he's not wallowing in his self-pity, he'll probably even tell you that himself. Anyway, neither one of you has to agree with my decision, Sarah, but I don't want to keep defending myself to you. It's bad enough I have to hear the 'poor me' crap from McCormick all the time."

"Of course," Sarah answered, contrite. "If there wasn't a choice, there wasn't a choice. It's just unfortunate, is all."

"I won't argue with you there," the judge said with a heavy sigh. "I just hope history isn't trying to repeat itself."

"Me, too," Sarah whispered as she left Hardcastle alone in the den. "Me, too."

"Now," the judge muttered as he rummaged through his desk drawers, "what did I do with that tape?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"_You look like hell, kid."_ Harper's observation from earlier this afternoon echoed in McCormick's head. He had uttered some comeback that was undoubtedly snappier in his mind than in reality, but the truth was, he wanted out of this cell. He was facing his fifth night in the small room, and his patience was wearing thin.

Since Sarah's visit two days ago, McCormick's days had gone back to the routine of seemingly endless solitude, only broken three times a day by Lieutenant Harper. He wondered if the man didn't ever take a day off. On the other hand, if he did, who would stop by and see him then? No other officers had even poked their head in the door all week, and McCormick had the very definite idea that he was well insulated in this small room.

He thought again of the lieutenant's comment, and wondered how much longer he would be here. He remembered well the weeks it had taken him to learn to sleep in Quentin, though he wouldn't say he really rested the entire time he was inside. He desperately hoped these last few days were not the first of many more to come.

As he considered his situation, he also remembered the promise he had made to himself the day he was paroled: he wasn't going back inside. Ever. Of course, he had hoped to get back to racing full time, and that would have given his life some direction and kept him out of trouble.

But even if that didn't work out, he had sworn he would sweep floors or flip burgers for the rest of his life before he would even come close to crossing the line again. He wondered sometimes if Barbara Johnson fully understood the sacrifice she had asked him to make, but that wasn't fair, and he knew it. All he would've had to do was explain it, and she would never have asked again. But how was he supposed to say no to something like that? They both needed some kind of closure with Martin Cody.

Besides, he wasn't supposed to get caught. Damn fool cop, anyway, trying to out-drive a racecar. Trying to out-drive _him_. They should've just let him go; it was only a car, after all. But there they were, God knew how many of them, trying to be heroes. Unbelievable. But being stupid was no reason to die, so he had stopped to free the officer from the burning car. It was supposed to be a good thing, but it had landed him back in jail. And back in Hardcastle's court. And, ultimately, right here in this infernal cell. How such unrelated events could come together to create a rather haphazard whole was a mystery. Life was funny that way sometimes.

He mulled over that thought for a minute, and was hit with an idea. There was a connection to Cody. He didn't know what prompted the idea, and he certainly didn't know what the connection was, but he was suddenly certain the connection was there. Somewhere. Somehow. He just had to find it.

He glanced at the clock—and a smile formed as it always did—and stretched out on the cot. It would be at least another hour before Harper was here with dinner; he hoped he could either think of something useful or rest for just a bit. At this point, either choice would be welcome, because he was certain that he felt worse than he looked.

**00000**

McCormick looked up blearily as the door opened. He hadn't come up with any brainstorms, and he hadn't really rested, but he had dozed off for a few minutes, and it was taking his mind a moment to clear. He sat up slowly to greet Harper.

"Hey, Lieutenant."

"I didn't mean to wake you," Harper apologized. "You need the rest."

"Agreed. But I'm not getting much more rest asleep than I am awake, so don't worry about it." McCormick flashed a grin. "Besides, I'd never want to sleep through meal time."

The lieutenant held up a large pizza box and a six-pack of soda. "I thought you might be ready for a break from the cafeteria menu." He placed the meal in the middle of the table and placed himself in one of the chairs. "And I thought you might be ready for some company. Mind if I join you?"

McCormick approached the table warily. "I never say no to the man who's buying," he said, trying—not entirely successfully—for a light tone, "and I never turn down a chance for company when I'm in jail."

"But?"

"But…what are you after, Lieutenant?" He leaned on the back of the chair and gazed at Harper intently.

Harper laughed. "I'm not 'after' anything, McCormick. Just sit down and eat."

But McCormick didn't move. "This wouldn't be your version of a last meal, would it?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "Why are you so suspicious?"

"Why?" McCormick was amazed. "Maybe we haven't met, Lieutenant. Mark McCormick, ex-con. Two to five courtesy of a good friend of yours." He gestured around the room. "Currently under lock and key for something I didn't do, courtesy of that same friend. You tell me why I shouldn't be suspicious."

Harper held his prisoner's gaze. "Because if you had been one hundred percent innocent, you never would've ended up in San Quentin. Because whether it was two years ago, last month, or this week, my friend has cut you more breaks than you probably deserve. And… because I brought pizza. You can be suspicious if you want, but let's eat." Not bothering to wait for a reply, he grabbed a slice from the box.

McCormick had the grace to look abashed as he seated himself at the table. "I don't mean to take my frustration out on you, Lieutenant," he said apologetically. "But I hope I don't have to agree with you in order to eat your pizza." With a slight grin, he reached for a slice of his own.

"No," Harper answered with a laugh, "you don't have to agree." He cast an appraising eye on the man across the table. "You still look like hell, by the way."

"Maybe real food will help," McCormick replied, his mouth full of pizza.

"Maybe. Personally, I think it's rest you need. What's with the not sleeping, anyway?"

McCormick shrugged. "I don't like it here," he said simply. "Makes me uptight, and it's hard to sleep through uptight."

"You're telling me you didn't sleep the entire time you were in Quentin?"

"Eventually I slept," McCormick answered, still wondering what was going on with the detective. "Just not well. I managed then; I'll manage now. Unless you'd like to convince Hardcastle to let me the hell out of here?"

The lieutenant made a face. "You been having any luck convincing him of stuff so far?"

"Not so much," McCormick admitted with a small smile.

"Yeah, well I wouldn't expect that to change much, either. He can be rather—"

"Stubborn?" McCormick interrupted. "Hardheaded? Mulish? Inflexible? Pig-headed?"

Harper laughed at the litany in spite of himself. "I was only going to say adamant," he told McCormick. "Or maybe, firm but fair."

"Adamant, I'll buy. I'll even settle for firm. But I'm not budging on fair."

"You know," Harper remarked, "you're gonna have to let go of that 'wrongly convicted' melodrama one of these days."

McCormick's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment. What, exactly, did this man know about him? And what was he trying to find out? Aloud, however, his only comment was, "I thought I didn't have to agree?"

"True enough. But it's going to be hard for you to be with him if you don't lose the attitude."

"You mean hard for _him_," McCormick corrected. "It's not bothering me at all."

The lieutenant shot him a perverse grin. "Which one of you do you think goes away when the situation gets too difficult?"

McCormick popped open one of the cans and considered the question. "Is that your way of telling me it's gotten too difficult already? Should I be packing my bags for an extended stay somewhere?"

"Not that I know of," Harper replied. He paused. "At least, not yet."

They ate in silence for a while, and McCormick discovered that he really did appreciate the company, even if he was still convinced Harper was up to something.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you know about Martin Cody, Lieutenant?" Might as well give the man something to take back to Hardcastle.

"The car guy from the Vegas deal?"

"Yeah. Anyway, whatever's going on right now, I think he's connected."

Harper looked at him speculatively. "You think Cody's setting you up?"

McCormick shook his head. "Not exactly. Although, come to think of it, why wouldn't he? I'm sure he's not happy with me, and he certainly knows about my connection with Hardcastle. But what I actually meant is that I think it's connected to that whole case somehow. I don't know why; it's just a feeling I had earlier. Can you ask the judge to find out if there's any connection to Cody at either one of the jobs?"

"I'll pass it along," Harper promised.

The men resumed their meal, and again, McCormick broke the silence. "Got a question for you, Lieutenant." He waited for the lieutenant's attention, then went on. "Tell me the truth. After we're done here, are you taking me over to central booking?"

"You seem awfully fixated on that idea, McCormick. Have a guilty conscience, do you?"

McCormick smiled slightly. "No, Lieutenant Harper, I do not have a guilty conscience. What I have is a very personal understanding of Hardcastle's sense of right and wrong. I think the man might literally be incapable of looking the other way when he thinks a law has been broken. Call it my melodrama, if you want, but that's precisely the character flaw that landed me in prison for two years, and it's not all that hard to believe it will land me there again."

"So, let me get this straight. His sense of right and wrong is a character flaw?"

"And you can tell him I said so," McCormick answered firmly. "But you're avoiding my question."

Harper glanced at him quizzically; he had almost forgotten. "Oh, yeah…central booking. You are definitely too damn suspicious for your own good. Okay. Let me be clear: I am not booking you tonight. I am not processing you in any way into the system officially. Nothing has changed. You will be staying right here until Milt is satisfied, one way or the other. And for the record, if he does decide to put you back inside permanently, you can bet he'll be down here to do it himself."

McCormick picked at his pepperoni and contemplated the answer. "You're probably right about that last thing," he decided finally.

"You're supposed to be relieved," the officer told him.

Keeping his attention focused on the pizza, McCormick answered quietly. "I don't know how to be relieved when I still don't know what the hell is going to happen." He glanced up at the lieutenant. "I really need to get out of here."

Harper examined the young man closely. What had happened to the light-hearted banter? He had intended to give the kid a little diversion, not make the situation worse.

"You know," he said lightly, "you shouldn't say things like that to a cop. Believe it or not, we can be suspicious, too."

McCormick laughed, somehow guessing that had been Harper's intention. "You don't have to tell me that, Lieutenant. I saw your face the other day, remember? I was thinking you might've shot me if Sarah hadn't been here."

Harper waved his hand in the air, brushing off the idea. "Nah, too much paperwork. I woulda just clobbered you."

McCormick cackled at the thought. "Yeah, regular he-man stuff. I can see why you and the judge are friends, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant grinned at him. "This is a pretty unofficial situation, you know, McCormick, so you can drop the title. The name's Frank."

The slice of pizza in McCormick's hand froze halfway to his mouth as he gaped at Harper. What was this man up to? But he couldn't find even a trace of duplicity in the detective's features, so he decided to play along.

"Okay, Frank," he replied as he finished his bite, "and you can call me Mark. We'll be buddies just like you and old Hardcase."

Harper chuckled at the tone that somehow managed to be conspiratorial and patronizing all at once. "Yeah," he agreed, "that's what we'll be, all right. You and me, we'll be like Tonto and…" he thought for a long moment, "...Sancho Panza," he finally finished.

McCormick slapped the table in sudden glee. "Right. Sidekicks 'R' Us. First we'll write a book: How to Find Your Very Own Super-Hero Wannabe. Then we'll do the lecture circuit. 'You, Too, Can Help Save the World'. We'll be the talk of the town, out promoting Truth, Justice and the Hardcastle Way."

Despite his best intentions, Harper burst out laughing. Damn, but the kid could paint a picture. And it seemed he was well on his way to really understanding the Hardcastle mentality, which was one of a kind, he had to admit. But still, probably wouldn't do to let the kid think he'd won him over.

Still grinning, the lieutenant said, "I'm guessing your mouth was running like that last weekend, shortly before you ended up here."

McCormick thought immediately of the angry outburst that had probably caused—or at least accelerated—all of this, and his own grin faded slightly.

"Not exactly like that," he answered slowly, "but I think it's safe to assume my mouth was involved." He shrugged then, and put on his best long-suffering expression. "But what I can I say? The man says he's all about honesty. I'm just trying to be a good stooge, do as he asks. Not my fault the old donkey can't handle the truth."

The detective could tell there was some true bitterness behind the wisecrack, but the ex-con really did seem to be trying to fight it. And at least for the moment, McCormick seemed content to let his humor carry him through the situation.

Harper thought that might not be such a bad approach, especially when it came to keeping up with Milton C. Hardcastle.

**00000**

"Milt, you have got to quit harassing my men," Harper was saying into the phone.

"_I'm not harassing them,"_ Hardcastle huffed. _"I'm just checking in with them."_

"Two or three times a day? That seems excessive. I told you we'd let you know if there were any developments. Trust me, I know how important it is to you."

The judge relented…somewhat. _"Okay. I'll try to keep my calls to one a day. But, honestly, Frank, I don't know how there can be so little to go on. I've talked to everyone I know at least twice. I've talked to everyone Wilde knows. And I've had that poor kid out at all hours of the day and night just trying to attract attention. I swear, I've thought about having him actually break in someplace just to see if we get a reaction from anyone."_

Harper chuckled lightly. "Wouldn't it make more sense to just take the kid home and quit worrying about it?"

Hardcastle was startled by the question. _"What?"_

"It's just that the longer he's been here, the more convinced you seem that you're definitely looking for someone else. If you know he didn't do it, why don't you get him out of here?"

"_What are you talking about, Frank? I don't know anything for sure. That's why I left him there, remember?"_

"Yeah, I remember," Harper replied. "Forget I brought it up."

Hardcastle heard the masked disappointment in the lieutenant's voice. _"Frank? What's going on?"_

"I don't know what you mean," Harper countered.

"_I mean,"_ Hardcastle said distinctly, _"what is going on? Why do you want me to bring McCormick home?"_

"I didn't say that's what I wanted," the detective argued. "I said, since you clearly don't believe he's guilty, it doesn't make sense to leave him here."

Suddenly concerned, the judge wanted answers. _"Has something happened, Frank? Is McCormick all right?"_

Harper sighed. "Nothing has happened, Milt, but I don't know if he's exactly all right. I told you he's getting antsy, and he sure as hell isn't sleeping much. You know, it's Sunday, one week since you dropped him off here. That's a long time to go without any sleep to speak of. He's trying to keep a stiff upper lip about the whole thing, but he's becoming more and more convinced he's down for the count. If you're going to take him back home, you should just do it. And if you plan on sending him back to Quentin, you should do it sooner rather than later, because it's the not knowing that's killing him. He wants an answer."

"_He wants an answer?"_ Hardcastle repeated slowly. He considered the comment, and realization struck. _"You've been spending time with him!"_ he accused Harper.

"Of course I've been spending time with him, Milt. You told me not to let anyone else in there with him."

"_Uh-uh, that's not good enough. I'm not talking about just dropping in to bring him food a few times a day. You've actually been hanging out with him, haven't you?"_

Harper laughed, feeling slightly guilty. "I wouldn't exactly say hanging out, Milt, but we had dinner a few nights ago. Remember, I told you about his whole idea about Cody?"

"_You didn't tell me you got all buddy-buddy with him to come up with that crazy theory."_

"Why, Milton Hardcastle," Harper teased, "I do believe you're jealous!"

"_Don't be ridiculous,"_ Hardcastle snapped. _"It's just that I should've warned you, is all."_

"Warned me about what?"

"_About McCormick. It's kinda weird the way he seems to get to people."_

"People like you, you mean?"

"_I actually meant people like you, Frank, and Sarah. And you know, his young friend, Miss Johnson, practically worships him. It's just a little unusual."_

"Yeah," Harper agreed, "and this cranky old judge I know seems to have developed a surprising soft spot of his own."

"_Hah! Don't go jumping to any conclusions, Harper. At least I can see through his charmer act." _

"Whatever you say, Milton, whatever you say." Harper was still grinning when he heard the line click closed in his ear.

**00000**

Judge Hardcastle bolted straight up in bed with the very first ring of the phone. Taking a deep breath, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the receiver.

"Hardcastle."

"_Your prison rat is away from home again, Judge,"_ the voice told him. _"You really should keep a closer watch on him."_

"What are you—" But just as each time before, the mysterious caller was gone without further comment.

Hardcastle replaced the phone on the hook and sat silently in the dark. That was the call he'd been waiting a week to receive, and yet he found himself wishing it had been the other kind—the kind with a crime to talk about. He realized that he would've found that somehow more definitive. Still, the caller clearly was trying to report McCormick for being away from the estate, and since it was Wilde currently cruising around in the Coyote, the caller just as clearly didn't have accurate information, which meant it was time for the kid to come home. First thing tomorrow morning, he'd drive down to the station and pick him up.

He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, rather than immediately drifting back to sleep, he found himself thinking about his earlier conversation with Frank Harper. The detective had been telling him for the past few days that McCormick was starting to look a little worse for wear, though the judge had dismissed his concerns. Today, though, Harper had truly sounded worried. At the time, Hardcastle had chalked it up to McCormick's inexplicable charm, though, in truth, Harper wasn't really that easy to fool.

Hardcastle glanced over at the clock, and then forced himself to stay in bed. It was well after midnight already, and there was just no sense driving all the way to town at this time of night. The kid was probably already asleep, anyway.

But what if he wasn't?

The first time Harper had relayed his concern about McCormick's look of exhaustion, Hardcastle had laughed him off, saying the kid could sleep anywhere. But in the subsequent days, as Harper repeated his report, the judge had been forced to reconsider his position on the topic. Maybe it would make more sense to bring him home tonight so he wouldn't sleep the entire day away tomorrow. At least that way, he could start catching up on some of his chores right away.

Yeah, he decided, as he swung himself out of bed. It's not that he was worried. And certainly not that he felt guilty for putting the kid through it. It's just that Wilde hadn't been all that thrilled about doing any of the yard work this past week, and things were starting to pile up. Better if he at least got some work out of McCormick tomorrow, and he wouldn't be able to do that unless he brought him home tonight. Yeah.

**00000**

"You've got to be kidding me," Hardcastle yelled at the nervous young officer standing before him.

"No, sir," the officer replied. "I'm sorry, sir. But Lieutenant Harper said absolutely no one was to be allowed to visit the prisoner."

"I'm not gonna visit him, I'm gonna take him out of here. I put him here, and I can sure as hell take him out again. Check his file; you'll see that he's in my custody."

"That may be, sir," the young man said with no attempt to check anything, "but I have to follow the lieutenant's orders."

"Oh, for pity's sake, then, let me use your phone." Without waiting for permission, Hardcastle grabbed the telephone and swung it around, punching furiously at the numbers.

It took a few rings, but finally the line was answered. "Frank," he growled, "it's me. What? Yes, I know what time it is. Listen. I'm down here at the station, and your officer…" he looked closely at the name badge on the young man's chest, "…Miller won't let me have McCormick. Says he's under strict orders not to let anyone in. You wanna take care of this for me?" The judge listened for a moment longer. "Yeah, I'll fill you in completely tomorrow."

He thrust the receiver over to the desk officer. "Lieutenant Harper would like to speak with you," he said, taking immense pleasure in the sudden fear that came into the man's face.

"This is Officer Miller," the man said into the phone, but that was the last thing he said for several minutes. Hardcastle watched the physical changes play over the officer: his eyes widened, his cheeks reddened and his shoulders slumped. Finally, Miller muttered, "Yes, sir," and hung up the phone.

The judge smiled at the young man sweetly, then followed as Miller led the way toward the holding cell. The officer unlocked the door, and then wisely disappeared back to his desk, leaving Hardcastle to conduct his business as he saw fit.

Hardcastle entered the darkened room slowly, and stood quietly for a moment, silhouetted in the doorway. He was going to feel pretty silly if he had to wake the kid up to take him home to sleep. The hesitant voice from the darkness quickly assured Hardcastle he needn't have worried.

"Judge?"

"McCormick. I thought you might be sleeping."

"You were hoping for the pleasure of waking me?" Hardcastle could hear the grin in the tone, and marveled that the smart-ass attitude also seemed to be wide-awake, even at this hour of the night.

"Not likely, kid. If you recall, I've already had that experience a time or two, and there is nothing pleasurable about it."

McCormick smiled in the darkness, ignoring the comment. "You planning on making a habit of these late night jail visits, Judge?"

"You planning on making a habit of being here?" Hardcastle snapped back, effectively silencing the younger man. He paused for a moment, then asked, "Mind if I turn on the lights?"

Assuming the answering grunt gave consent, the judge flipped the switch on the wall. He drew a sharp breath as he saw McCormick in the harsh fluorescence.

The young man was sitting on the cot, his back leaned against the wall. His legs were drawn up to his chest, hands clasped together in front, with his chin resting on his knees. His eyes squinted in the sudden brightness, but even when they began to relax, Hardcastle could see the face remained drawn and tense. The layers of dark circles under his eyes made clear that Harper had not been exaggerating his reports of sleeplessness, and even in the short week he'd been here, McCormick's skin had already lost some of its healthy glow.

Looking at him now, Hardcastle thought that McCormick seemed both years older and yet immensely child like. He didn't like the contradiction one bit.

Most disturbing, however, was the slightly haunted look that lived in the usually lively blue eyes. He could see the ex-con sizing him up, trying to evaluate the situation and withdrawing further into himself as he feared the meaning of the early morning visit.

"You're looking a little ragged around the edges there, kid," Hardcastle commented. "Maybe if you were sleeping at two in the morning instead of sitting here in the dark you'd be in better shape."

"Can't argue with you there," McCormick answered dully. He stared at the judge, trying to read the older man's face, but it wasn't clear if the guilt in the eyes was caused by the current situation or something yet to come.

"So," he began as casually as possible, "is the verdict in?"

"I had another phone call tonight, McCormick."

"And?" McCormick forced himself to remain calm until he heard the whole story; no sense getting his hopes up for nothing.

"Just telling me you weren't in the gatehouse. I had Wilde out running around again tonight."

McCormick wasn't sure what to think of the unreadable, straightforward tone of voice. It certainly wasn't giving anything away, and that was a little worrisome. On the other hand, at least Hardcastle was here. He didn't think the judge would've made the trip tonight if all he intended was to move his prisoner to a different cell.

"And is that…." He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. "Is it enough?"

"Should it be?"

"Judge." McCormick's voice took on a slightly pleading tone. "I can't tell you how much I don't want to play games right now. Don't make me ask, please, just tell me what I want to know." He leaned his head back against the wall and locked his eyes onto the older pair across the room, then repeated his request. "Just tell me, Hardcastle. Whatever it is, I need to know."

Hardcastle felt a twinge in his heart that he couldn't quite explain. "I would've liked to have something more concrete, kid," he admitted thickly. He hurried on when he saw McCormick's eyes cloud over. "But beggars can't be choosers, McCormick, and I'll take what I can get. It's good enough for me. Let's go home."

McCormick didn't move from his cot. "I need you to be sure, Judge," he said quietly. "I really don't want to come back here again. It would be much easier to never leave."

"Don't be stupid, McCormick," the judge growled. "I said it was good enough for me, now get up off your butt before I— -" He broke off his tirade and settled for a harsh glare at the young man.

McCormick managed a weak grin. "Before you change your mind, Judge?" he finished the thought. "My point exactly."

"McCormick…" Anger seethed from Hardcastle in the single word.

"Okay, Hardcase, okay," McCormick grumbled as he unfolded himself and rose from the bed. "I was just trying to be careful, but I'm sure as hell not going to argue the point."

He gratefully grabbed his own shirt and pants from the stack of clothing and took them to the small curtained bathroom area to change. He had to admit, for a cell, this one had some added features.

He returned a moment later, glad to be out of the standard issue denim. He seated himself on the cot again to put on his shoes. As he tied the Nikes, he cast a careful look over at the judge, wishing he could be more certain that Hardcastle was prepared to leave this situation behind.

"What're you staring at, McCormick?" Hardcastle yelled.

McCormick jumped guiltily, and finished with his shoes quickly. "Nothing, Judge," he mumbled. "Sorry." He stood and faced Hardcastle. "Okay, let's go home."

Hardcastle held open the door with an exaggerated flourish. "After you."

McCormick grinned, and started across the room. There was just no understanding this guy, he thought. He stopped suddenly and turned back into the room.

"What'sa matter, McCormick? Can't stand the thought of leaving? Think you're gonna be homesick?"

McCormick didn't reply, but threw a dark look back over his shoulder at the judge. He grabbed the travel clock and slipped it into his pocket before turning back toward the door.

"What're you taking?" Hardcastle asked suspiciously.

"What do you think I could steal from here, Hardcastle?" McCormick demanded, and pushed past him. He didn't wait for an answer, but started quickly down the hallway.

"McCormick, wait," Hardcastle called after him, and the tone made clear it wasn't an idle request. He was glad to see that the kid understood that, and he reached him in a few quick strides. "Is there a problem, kid? I thought you'd be glad to be getting out of here. I didn't have to come all the way out here in the middle of the night, ya know."

McCormick straightened his shoulders and turned slowly to face the judge. "No, Judge, there's no problem." How was he supposed to tell this man that he was immeasurably relieved at leaving the cell, but still horribly fearful that he would be back? He couldn't make that kind of admission without sounding weak. Or guilty. Or both. He certainly didn't need that at the moment, so…. "And I am very glad to be getting out of here."

He forced a lighter tone and continued, "Of course, I told you from the beginning I didn't need to be here, but you had to have your own proof, so don't blame me just because you had an attack of conscience and lost a few hours' sleep."

Hardcastle recognized the ploy, even if he didn't understand all of the reasoning behind it, and he thought it would be okay to let the young man get away with it. "Yeah, I know, hotshot," he replied with a grin. "I'm supposed to always listen to you, right?" He clapped him on the arm and started down the hallway again.

"Wouldn't kill you," McCormick answered as he followed. "And I'm pretty sure it would be a hell of a lot easier on me," he added under his breath.

Hardcastle chuckled as he led the way outside, thinking McCormick might just have a wisecrack for every situation.

They reached the pickup, and McCormick laughed out loud. "This really is déjà vu, Judge. You and me leaving the jail in the wee hours of the morning, heading home in this old piece of junk. You got a real sense of irony, don't ya, Hardcase? Got any new comics in there for me to read on the trip?"

Hardcastle glared at the laughing eyes over the hood of the truck. Knowing the kid had a comment for every situation and wanting to hear them were two very different things. "Don't you ever just keep your mouth shut, kid?"

"Not often," McCormick answered truthfully as he ducked into the passenger cab.

"Well, you might wanna start working on it," the judge ordered as he climbed behind the wheel. "The smart-guy routine is wearing a little thin."

McCormick glanced sideways at him as Hardcastle slammed the truck into gear and tore out of the parking lot. He figured he should feel guilty for needling the old guy so much, but it had been a long week, and that was absolutely Hardcastle's fault, so he'd be damned if he was going to apologize.

It only took ten minutes of silence for McCormick to give in. He threw his hands up in exasperation. "All right, Hardcase, you win. I'm sorry about the attitude, and I'll zip the lip, okay?" When he didn't receive an answer, he slumped further down in the seat. He tried a different approach.

"I appreciate you getting me out tonight, Judge." He chanced another look over at Hardcastle and saw that his features had softened. McCormick smiled to himself. Even if the judge wasn't talking yet, he knew he'd been forgiven, and that was enough for now. He crossed his arms over his chest, got as comfortable as possible in the corner of the bench seat, and went promptly to sleep.

Hearing the even breathing, Hardcastle glanced over at his passenger, and reflected that sleep took years off the features and gave the young man a slightly innocent look. He sniffed to himself. _Hah!_ _Things are not always what they seem_, he thought.

Still, he was glad the kid went to sleep. Not only did McCormick need the rest, but Hardcastle recognized that his own patience had been dwindling, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Compared to many of their conversations, the kid's attitude tonight had been pretty mild.

Actually, the judge thought, he probably did understand the reaction. He had been prepared for McCormick to be angry, resentful, and full of wisecracks and I-told-you-so comments. He hadn't really expected that he would be accepting, almost grateful, and—for all intents and purposes—pretty much himself. Something about the kid's behavior spoke volumes about trust, and Hardcastle had not been prepared for that.

He shook the thoughts from his head and drove on through the night, trying not to spend too much time checking on the sleeping ex-convict curled up in his truck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter5**

Mark McCormick awoke slowly, surprised to see the brightly lit room rather than the dull gray of the jail cell. _Oh, yeah. _It came back to him as his mind cleared. Hardcase had sprung him last night and brought him back to Gull's Way. The Coyote had not been sitting in the driveway, so he had quickly used the gatehouse to shower and grab some clean clothes, and then the judge had put him up in a spare bedroom in the main house. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea of the cop staying in 'his' house another night, but what was he supposed to do—boot him out and stick him in a cab in the middle of the night? Not likely. Besides, he had been snuggled into the guest bed and sound asleep before Wilde had ever returned to the estate, so it wasn't like it made a difference, really.

Glancing over at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was almost noon. He swung out of bed quickly, grabbed his stuff, and headed for the bathroom. Hardcastle would kick his butt if he didn't get moving soon. He smiled at the thought, knowing it wasn't really true…not today, anyway…but that wouldn't keep the judge from going on a full-fledged rant. He'd like to avoid that, if at all possible.

After an invigorating shower and a fresh set of clothes, McCormick decided he should've stayed in bed. He still looked like hell—to use Harper's eloquent description—and he thought he would feel a lot better after about twenty more hours of sleep. Still, after being locked in the same room for a week, he didn't intend to spend his first day of freedom indoors and asleep. Even his chores would be a welcome change of pace today.

He bounded down the stairs, but Hardcastle wasn't in the den, so he went immediately to the kitchen. He slapped together a ham sandwich, added a pile of chips to the plate, grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, and then headed out the back door toward the pool.

As he approached the deck area, he was reminded of his outburst toward the judge last weekend. That had been stupid, and he vowed he was going to try harder to control his temper…before it landed him in real trouble.

"Mornin', Judge," McCormick called as he rounded the corner, then faltered for a moment when he saw the second figure seated at the table.

"It's afternoon, McCormick," Hardcastle corrected. "I was beginning to think you were never gonna get up."

"I still need my beauty rest," McCormick returned with a grin, as he hesitantly resumed his movement toward the pool. "Too bad a little sleep couldn't do anything for you, though."

"How're you feeling, Mark?" Frank Harper asked, interrupting Hardcastle's reply.

"I'm okay, Frank," McCormick answered slowly. He saw Hardcastle roll his eyes at his use of the detective's given name, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. "Mind if I join you guys, Judge?"

Hardcastle recognized the fear lurking behind the simple question. "'Course not, kid, it's your home, ya know."

The young man glanced at the judge sharply. If the words had been meant to reassure, he would need to give the guy some lessons. He set his plate and drink on the table and continued with the small talk. "Did you guys want anything from the kitchen? I hate to eat in front of you."

"Since when?" Hardcastle barked.

McCormick grinned; the familiar tone was much more comforting. "Not you, Hardcase. I meant Frank." He seated himself at the table and bit into his sandwich with obvious pleasure, though he found himself continually glancing up at the two men sitting with him at the table. Was it possible this was nothing more than a visit between two old friends? Not likely, but he'd had bigger surprises lately. He looked around curiously. "Where's Wilde?"

"Took him home this morning," Hardcastle answered. "He said to tell you he liked the car."

"I'll bet," McCormick huffed. As he ate, he saw the others exchange a look that seemed remarkably like they were having fun at his expense again. "What?" he demanded.

"You're still awfully suspicious, Mark," Harper told him.

McCormick met his eyes. "I'm still the same guy."

Harper grinned maliciously. "Yeah, I remember; we met. King of the melodrama, wasn't it?"

McCormick struggled to conjure up a comeback that wouldn't betray too many of his true feelings.

Seeing the uncertainty written across the young man's face, Harper decided to let him off the hook. "I just dropped by for an update, Mark. You snuck out without even saying good-bye, you know."

"Oh, don't go pampering him, Frank," Hardcastle complained. "He'll start expecting it from everyone."

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Judge," McCormick assured him. "There's not too much that would surprise me these days, but _you_ makin' a fuss over _me_ would definitely make the list."

"Glad you understand that, kiddo."

McCormick shook his head with a grin. "Definitely something else," he muttered, as he popped the last bite of his lunch into his mouth. After a moment, he sobered. "I'm gonna start with the pool, Judge, if we're gonna be here a while?"

"Where would we be going, McCormick?" the judge growled.

"I dunno," McCormick answered with a shrug, "just checking." He pushed back from the table and headed to the pump house.

The other men watched him drag the pool supplies out of the small shed to begin vacuuming the pool, and both could see the tension carved in his body.

"I think I'm making him nervous," Harper commented softly to the judge.

"Probably," Hardcastle agreed with a smile, "but it won't kill him."

Harper grinned. "You really should think about cutting him a little slack for a while, Milt."

Hardcastle shifted to face the detective. "Why?" he demanded. "Just because he's a little tired and cranky?"

"No. Because he wants to trust you even though you just put him in jail for a week for something he didn't do. You could make that easier on him, and you know it."

"I really shoulda warned you," Hardcastle muttered, "for my sake. The last thing I need is another convert to the McCormick way of thinking."

"Don't worry about that too much," Harper replied. "He's a good kid, but I don't know about his way of thinking…it's a little out there." He grinned and rose from the table. "But I'm gonna go. Maybe you'll both relax a little." The lieutenant raised his voice. "Mark, I'll see you later."

McCormick looked up from the pool and waved, the relief obvious in his face. "See ya, Frank."

"Call me if you need any more help, Milt," Harper said, and disappeared.

Hardcastle sat in silence for a few moments, then picked up his daily newspaper. He had read it this morning, of course, but now it was time for research. If his mysterious caller thought McCormick was out and about last night, then it seemed reasonable he would probably hear more today. He'd search the paper for any likely crimes, and maybe he would be more prepared when they called again.

He had made it through most of one section by the time McCormick was packing up the last of the chemicals. "I'm gonna do some mowing now, Judge," the young man called.

"Hold on, McCormick," Hardcastle stopped him. "Come over here a minute."

McCormick approached the table slowly, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "What's up?"

Hardcastle waved him into a chair before continuing. "You seem kind of…I don't know…tense, or something. You okay?"

_Dammit_. Hardcastle immediately kicked himself mentally. He had intended to offer reassurance, not make the kid admit his fears. Why had it not come out that way?

"I'm still kinda tired, Judge," McCormick answered, not quite meeting Hardcastle's gaze. "Nothing to worry about."

"What I meant to say," Hardcastle clarified, "is that _you_ don't need to be worried. Things are fine here. We're fine." He paused a moment, then added, "Unless there's something you want to talk about?"

McCormick did meet the judge's eyes then, though he wasn't certain what he'd find there. "Um, I'm not sure what you mean, Judge. Is there something you need me to talk about? More questions for me?"

Hardcastle rubbed his hand across his mouth, frustrated, and beginning to regret having started the conversation. "No, McCormick, I don't have questions. You've missed the point entirely. It's just that you're acting a little strange today. Stranger than usual, I mean. You look like a quarter would bounce off of you, you're so tight, and it seemed like Harper made you uncomfortable." He examined McCormick closely. "You don't think I'm convinced, do you?"

"No," McCormick said simply.

"McCor—"

McCormick held up his hand to stop the rebuttal. "Judge, you don't have to explain. I appreciate you giving me a chance; that's more than most people would've done. It's just…well, just that…I don't know what to do now. I don't know how to act around you; don't know what to say. If things were weird before, they have just become eerily bizarre."

Hardcastle laughed briefly. "McCormick, you do have a flair for turning an interesting phrase. But listen to me, kiddo." His suddenly serious tone grabbed McCormick's attention. He saw the jaws clench on the young face, and was hit with a wave of guilt. He had to find a way to get past this, for both their sakes.

"Listen," he repeated. "Getting you paroled in my custody, that was giving you a chance. Letting you have the gatehouse instead of the gardener's trailer, that was giving you a chance. Hell, even your original sentence when you were in my court was lenient, and _that _was giving you a chance. But bringing you home last night…that had nothing to do with giving you a chance; that was getting someone out of jail who had no business being there in the first place.

"Now, I'm not gonna apologize for puttin' you there, because I had to know. But I do know now, and _you_ need to know _that_. I'm ready to move past this, McCormick. Are you?"

The young, blue eyes shone with emotion as McCormick stared disbelievingly at Hardcastle. He wanted—almost desperately—to respond to each and every word he had just heard, but something had tightened around his heart like a vise, and whatever it was seemed to also be freezing his tongue. He settled for answering the question that had been posed.

"Yeah, Judge," he managed a hoarse reply, "I'm ready. Let's forget it ever happened."

"No, McCormick," the judge contradicted, "we don't ever forget. We remember, and we learn."

McCormick nodded as he rose from his seat. Determined to lighten the mood, he found a smile. "It's a deal, Kemosabe. But what I have learned so far is how cranky you get when the lawn doesn't look just right, so I'm gonna do some mowing." He paused for a moment, and then grinned. There was still one other comment that couldn't go unanswered.

"And maybe later you can find a way to explain the legal definition of 'lenient' for me, Judge, 'cause I'm pretty sure we've got some different ideas." He ducked quickly out of Hardcastle's reach, and laughed as he jogged from the patio to continue his chores.

Hardcastle grinned, too, suddenly very glad he had started the conversation.

**00000**

McCormick flipped on the stereo and collapsed onto his bed. It had been a long day, and he was glad to be settled back into familiar surroundings. He had worked all afternoon in the yard, never once complaining about his status as a 'slave,' and the exertion had only added to his exhaustion. But he hadn't complained because anything was better than being locked up, and today did not seem like the right time to imply otherwise—even jokingly.

When Sarah had returned from the weekly shopping trip in the late afternoon, she had been delighted to see for herself that McCormick had returned home, and he had been touched by her reaction. And, after taking one look at him, she had immediately put a stop to the yard work, saying she could use some help in the kitchen instead. Even Hardcastle seemed to know better than to argue with her at that point, so McCormick had a shower and a change of clothes, then reported for kitchen duty.

But Sarah had pushed him into a chair out of the way—saying she'd been successfully cooking dinner since before his parents had been born—and proceeded to move about the kitchen, keeping up a steady stream of conversation all the while. McCormick appreciated her subtle approach, and he certainly appreciated her saving him from a few more hours of demanding chores. He might not be comfortable standing up to Hardcase today, but he was glad someone was.

The three of them had dined together on a delicious meal of baked chicken, steamed vegetables and fresh baked bread, and the dinner conversation had been entertaining and comfortable. McCormick was still a little surprised at the way the other two accepted him into their home, but he was more surprised by how grateful he was for that acceptance, and how badly he hoped he would never lose it.

After dinner, he had helped Sarah with the dishes—really helped, not just hidden out from the judge—then he had joined Hardcastle in the den to see what was on television for the evening. They had argued over the current action film or the black and white western, but—of course—Hardcastle had won the argument, and McCormick had resigned himself to enduring yet another saloon brawl and high noon showdown.

Now, as the music washed over him, he smiled as he thought the judge was kind of lost in time; the old donkey would've been a better match back in the days of the original white hats. But if he was forced to admit the truth, McCormick was grateful to have him in the here and now. He was still astounded by the speech the judge had made this afternoon, still couldn't believe the old guy really trusted him in this situation. Again his heart was gripped with that indefinable feeling that seemed to cause his breath to catch in his throat.

As he drifted off to sleep, McCormick knew that he would give almost anything to keep that feeling alive within himself.

**00000**

"I appreciate the call, Frank," McCormick heard Hardcastle say into the phone.

McCormick dropped into an easy chair for a short break from yard work with his glass of tea and watched Hardcastle quizzically. It wasn't bad enough that he was living with a judge; the judge had to have friends who were cops. The whole situation was enough to make a guy crazy.

Hardcastle finished his conversation. "I think we're okay here for now, but keep me posted on any new developments, would you?" He listened a moment. "Yeah, of course I will. Talk to you soon." He returned the receiver to its cradle and looked across the room.

"What's up with Frank?" McCormick inquired. When Hardcastle didn't answer right away, the young man began to feel self-conscious. "I mean, if it's okay that I ask," he stammered. "I'm not trying to butt in or anything."

Hardcastle smiled slightly, immediately reminded that they still had some adjusting to do. "I'll make you a deal, McCormick. You feel free to ask anything you want, and I'll feel free to tell you if it's none of your damn business."

"Deal," McCormick grinned. "So, what's up with Frank?"

"One of his officers got a call today, an anonymous tip."

McCormick groaned. "Don't tell me."

"Sorry, kiddo. I guess he got tired of waiting for me to lock you up."

"Yeah, just because he doesn't know we did that already." He tried not to sound bitter, but he'd only been home a few days; he sure wasn't ready to go back inside again. "So what do they want to do now?"

"Well, it's not like it was a surprise to Frank, you know. For right now, it's under control. He's explained the situation to his officers. Without any physical evidence, or even any real circumstantial evidence, they're willing to accept our take on it for the moment."

"Thank God for that," McCormick said with relief, "because I am not ready to spend any more time as one of L.A. county's guests." He thought for a moment.

"But if this guy is true to form, he's not gonna stop with that one call. How long do you think they'll be willing to accept 'our take'?"

"I don't know, McCormick," the judge growled, "but quit being so pessimistic about everything. I told ya, they don't have any real evidence to go on. Nothing's gonna change that." He paused. "Is it?"

"No, Hardcase," McCormick answered with an easy grin, "nothing's gonna change that."

"Okay, then. In that case, get out of here and get back to work on the hedges."

McCormick leapt to his feet, plastered a severe expression onto his face, and snapped to attention. "Aye, aye, sir. Mark McCormick, sir. Reporting back to yard duty."

Hardcastle waved him out the door without comment, working hard to hide his amusement behind a stern glare.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter6**

Hardcastle hung up the phone and glanced across the table at McCormick. "We were right; it was the house in Santa Monica," he said as he returned his attention to the file folder in front of him.

McCormick pushed aside the breakfast that had been occupying his attention and stared at the judge. "C'mon, Hardcase, this is getting annoying. When are we gonna do something about this?"

"We've had this discussion, McCormick," Hardcastle replied without looking up.

"And we're gonna keep having it until you get some sense," McCormick said forcefully. He ignored the warning glare from Hardcastle and continued his comments. "Judge, I've been back home over a week now, and these damn calls just keep coming—what is this, the fourth burglary already? —and you don't even wanna look into it?"

"Not that I owe you any explanations, kiddo, but I told you why."

"Yeah, let's see. First, it was because I wasn't 'physically ready' for another case of any sort after my little stint inside…though you sure didn't have any problems with me busting my ass out here in the yard. Then, you said there just wasn't enough information to go on, so there wasn't any point 'spinning our wheels' on the case. And _now_, you've suddenly decided we need to go after this Walters character, even though he's been sitting around collecting dust in your files for who knows how long, and this creep is out there _right now_ trying to get me put back in prison. I'll tell you the truth, Judge: I just don't get it. What is wrong with you?"

Ice-cold eyes stared back at McCormick. "Are you planning on disagreeing with _everything_ I do, McCormick, or do you think I might catch a break every now and then?"

McCormick didn't like the tone, but he liked the current situation even less. "I'm sorry, Judge, but I need help understanding this one. Why are you avoiding this? Why isn't it important to you? You know, I believed you when you said we were gonna move past the suspicion, but if there's something you need to tell me, then say it. Otherwise, why can't we spend some time figuring out what's going on and who the hell is out to get me?

"If you don't want to work the case, I'll do it myself, but, Judge, I need this to be over. And I'd really like to understand why you're content to just let it go on. You know, if nothing else, you should be worried about losing your cheap labor over here. If I go back inside, who's gonna do the yard work for you?"

Hardcastle smiled grimly. "I've managed a long time without you, you know, hotshot."

McCormick rose from the table. "And I've managed without you, believe it or not. I'm going to find out what's going on, with or without your help. I'll let you know what I dig up." He turned from the table and started toward his parked car, not daring to breathe. For a moment, he almost believed he would make it.

"It'll be the last mistake you make on the outside, kiddo." Hardcastle spoke calmly, but the simple words had the desired effect. McCormick froze instantly.

But he didn't turn back. "Judge, I need—"

"What you need," Hardcastle interrupted, "is to remember who makes the decisions around here."

Slowly, McCormick turned to face the judge. "I haven't forgotten anything, Hardcastle, and I said I'd tell you what was going on. It's my ass on the line here, Judge, and I want to do something about it. Why can't you—"

Hardcastle interrupted again. "Get back over here, McCormick, and sit down. Let's talk this through."

"Talking isn't gonna help," McCormick answered, as he turned back toward the driveway. "You do what you need to do." He was only steps away from the Coyote when he felt the grip on his arm. Jeez, he had been expecting it and he still hadn't been prepared for the firm hold the old guy had on him! He jerked away and turned to face Hardcastle. "I'm not gonna go back to jail for something I didn't do, Judge! Up until the last few days, I would've thought you understood that."

"Is it gonna feel any different than going back to jail for violating your parole?" Hardcastle asked reasonably.

McCormick opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. After a moment, he spoke.

"You brought me here to help you catch the bad guys, Judge. Why can't we try to catch this one? It's important to me."

Hardcastle studied him intently. "We're too close to this one, kid," he finally said softly. "It would be better if we let the cops handle it."

"Too close?" McCormick was confused. Then he understood the real reason Hardcastle had been avoiding the case. "You don't think I can handle it. Maybe it'll turn out to be someone I don't want to see go down. Or someone who might make me an offer I can't refuse."

"I think this isn't a case you should be working," the judge admitted. "Lots of potential for problems."

McCormick didn't answer right away. Standing with his hands jammed into his jean pockets, he studied his feet as he kicked at the ground. So, Hardcastle might be ready to believe he was innocent, but he didn't trust him to handle himself. All in all, that wasn't a whole lot better.

"He's already called the cops," McCormick finally reminded Hardcastle. "How long do you think they're gonna let you keep vouching for me? We need to put the pieces together before I run out of time."

"McCormick—"

"Okay," McCormick interrupted, "you think I'm too close to it. That I can't be trusted to hold up my end of the bargain on this one. I disagree, but that's not the point right now." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Then you do it. I'll stay out of it, if that's what you want, but, Judge…I can't just leave it to the cops. I need someone that—" McCormick hesitated again, took a breath, and plunged ahead. "Someone that I trust," he finished.

Hardcastle stared at him, momentarily speechless. Damn. Just how many ways could this kid find to tug at his heart?

"Harper's a good cop," he finally replied, "and he's got some good men working on the case."

"I'm not denying that, Judge. I'm just saying that you and I have more of a vested interest in this situation. That's gotta count for something."

Damn again. Hardcastle knew already he was always going to hate it when the kid was right. He exhaled loudly. "So where you huffing off to?"

McCormick shook his head with a rueful grin. "I'm not huffing, Judge. And I'll stay put. I let my temper get the better of me for a second, but I'm not stupid. I told you before: your house, your rules."

"Where _were _you gonna go?" Hardcastle clarified.

"The track. I don't want to think that any of my friends are involved in this, but the truth is, most of the people I know are in racing."

"Or crime," the judge interjected.

McCormick laughed good-naturedly. "Hey, you're the one that widened my circle of friends, Judge, so don't be trying to blame that on me. But I was also wondering if we could get a list of guys who've gotten out of Quentin in the last few weeks. It's possible there's someone there who'd like to put me back inside."

"Been giving this a lot of thought, have you, kid?"

"It's my ass, remember?"

"Yeah," Hardcastle answered with a grin, "I remember. But like you pointed out, it's my cheap labor. How about I ride with you out to the track, and we'll see what we can find out?"

McCormick's face lit up. "Really? That would be great, Judge! You ready to go now?"

"Give me a few minutes, McCormick," Hardcastle said as he started toward the house, "I'll be right back."

McCormick was sitting in the Coyote with his goofy grin still plastered to his face when the judge returned. "All set, Kemosabe?" he asked as Hardcastle settled into the passenger seat.

Hardcastle grinned back at him. "Hi-yo, Silver."

McCormick laughed, and floored the accelerator, unbelievably content as he flew down the drive and out on to the highway.

**00000**

McCormick maneuvered the Coyote past the main gates of the track and circled around to the back. The last gate on this side of the track was staffed, but he simply flashed his crew badge at the attendant and drove into the parking lot. He followed the beat-up road over to a side lot, found an empty spot, and parked.

He felt Hardcastle watching him, and turned to find a strange expression on the judge's face. "What?"

"Why'd you park way over here?"

"Because it's the closest lot to where I want to be," McCormick answered slowly, clearly humoring the jurist. "Did you have a different preference?"

"No," Hardcastle replied, offering no further comment.

"Judge…what?" McCormick was hit with a sudden fear. _"Please_ don't tell me this is the lot where they found that first car."

Hardcastle merely shrugged.

"I don't suppose you're a big believer in coincidence?"

"Not really, no," Hardcastle replied as he climbed out of the car.

"Unbelievable," McCormick muttered under his breath, and pulled himself out from behind the wheel. As he perched on the window, he saw that Hardcastle hadn't completely exited the car, but was sitting on his window, waiting for the curly head to show itself.

"I'll tell you what I do believe, though," the judge offered across the top of the car.

McCormick pursed his lips and pondered the comment. "Do tell," he finally replied with exaggerated interest, though he wasn't really certain he wanted to hear the answer.

"If this is the closest lot to where your friends are, then it stands to reason this is the lot most of them use, too. That might make it a bit more likely that we find one of them behind all of this."

McCormick felt the gratitude flood his emotions, and he smiled across the roof. That certainly was not the answer he had been expecting; you just never knew when the donkey was going to say something kind of decent. "Maybe. I guess we'll see how it works out. Either way, you won't be sorry we're doing this."

Both men pulled themselves out of the car, and they started toward the track. "So, how do you want to play this, Masked Man?" McCormick asked.

"Do your friends know about our arrangement?" Hardcastle asked.

McCormick looked at him in surprise. "Sarah said you had already talked to some people out here. I figured you would've mentioned it if they didn't."

"I did talk to a couple of folks," the judge confirmed. "But that's not my secret to tell to these people."

Again a wave of gratitude swept over McCormick, and again he realized he never knew what to expect from the judge. Maybe—if he was lucky—he'd be around long enough not to be surprised.

"Yeah, Judge," he answered the question, "they know. I had to explain why I dropped out of sight again. They weren't likely to believe I just gave up on racing, and I don't lie to my friends, so…"

Hardcastle nodded. "Okay, then I think we stick pretty close to the truth here. Let me talk to them about some of the jobs, see what kind of feel I get from them. I'll let them think I'm leaning toward putting you back inside, and maybe someone will say something stupid."

"So you basically just want me to stand around and look either worried or pissed off?" McCormick asked with a grin.

"Like I said, kid, we're sticking pretty close to the truth."

McCormick laughed. "That's good, Judge; touché. I promise I'll be more charming when I don't have a prison sentence hanging over me."

"And do you think that'll be anytime soon?" Hardcastle inquired innocently. "Or will I be waiting 'indefinitely'?"

"Hah!" McCormick made a face. "That's up to you. Tonto will ride range until Masked Man loses all marbles and throws him in hoosegow, so if Kemosabe wants to keep nice lawn and sparkling pool, he should stay off back and let Tonto be good little sidekick."

"That's a cute routine, hotshot, but you might wanna tone it down a bit unless you're planning on showing it to the warden at the C block holiday party."

McCormick shot a glare toward the judge, and made an elaborate show of buttoning his lips together, but the grin still pulled at the corners of his mouth, and the laughter never left his eyes as he stomped a few feet ahead in a mock fury.

Hardcastle just chuckled as he followed after McCormick, noticing that the young man had already slowed his pace, making it simple to catch up with him. As they walked side by side, it occurred to Hardcastle that he had laughed more in the last month than he had in a very, very long time.

**00000**

McCormick was making introductions. "Ronnie, Les, Timmy…this is Judge Hardcastle." He did a pretty good imitation of someone trying—and failing—to hide his dislike. "He'd like to talk to you guys for a minute, if that's okay."

Les Martin spoke for the group. "This is the guy who put you away, Skid?"

"And the guy who kept him from going away again," Hardcastle interrupted.

McCormick grimaced and ignored the judge. "Yeah, Les, that's him. Just try to forget about the things I've said before and answer his questions, would you?"

"If you say so," Martin replied skeptically.

"So, gentleman," Hardcastle began in a falsely cheerful voice, "just how long have you known ol' Skid?" Behind him, McCormick rolled his eyes.

"Mark and I raced together back in Florida," Martin answered, "and eventually we both ended up here. Timmy over there is my brother, and he's been my crew chief forever, so he met Mark in Florida, too."

Ronnie Bozinski spoke up. "I met him earlier this year when he started taking some laps out here. The guys told me he'd been in prison, but most of them seemed glad when he showed up."

"Only most of them?" Hardcastle asked. "Anyone in particular not glad to see him?"

"Nah," Bozinski shook his head, "not really. Sometimes the drivers just get a little freaked by new competition." He grinned over at his friend. "Sorry, Les, no offense."

"So you don't drive?" the judge clarified with Bozinski.

"Nope, strictly crew for me. I love the cars and the track, but I'm happy letting someone else do the drivin'."

"And how often do you guys see McCormick?"

"We used to see him a lot," Martin answered, "but ever since Flip Johnson died…well, I guess that's when he ran into you again, and now we don't see him anymore."

Hardcastle didn't miss the anger in the tone. "So when's the last time you saw him, then?"

Martin shrugged. "I don't know, a month or two. I saw him at Flip's funeral, and I think maybe once right after that."

McCormick started an explanation, "Les wasn't—", but the judge held up a hand to silence him. McCormick glared at him, but he shut up.

"Why are you asking this stuff, anyway?" Martin demanded.

"Well, here's the thing, fellas…I've got reason to believe he might've been misbehavin' just a little bit, and I'm trying to figure out what's going on."

Timmy Martin spoke for the first time. "And just what do you think he's done this time? Driving his own car again? Living in his own house, or maybe spending his own money?"

McCormick snickered and grinned at Martin, but he knew better than to actually speak.

"Actually," Hardcastle said firmly, "it's other people's cars and money I'm worried about right now. There have been some burglaries."

"And you think Skid did it?" Timmy asked. "Then you're crazier than he said."

McCormick was tempted to let Hardcastle just deal with the attitude of his friends, but when he considered that the donkey didn't even have to be here, he thought maybe he should make things a bit easier on him. He crossed over to be closer to where his friends stood, and motioned them to gather round. He kept his back to the judge, but he didn't lower his voice.

"Okay, guys, here's the thing. I appreciate your feelings here, and to tell you the truth, I'd get a pretty big kick out of watching you run this old guy into the ground, but that's not gonna help me right now. He's got some bee in his bonnet about these burglaries, and he seems to think he needs to come down here and play Dick Tracy. I don't know what he wants to know, but I'd appreciate it if you'd just answer his questions. If he gets all pissed off, it's just gonna be that much harder on me."

Again, Les Martin spoke for the group. "All right, Skid, you made your point. We'll play nice." The racer leaned closer to McCormick and whispered, "Is there anything in particular we should tell him?"

McCormick smiled and shook his head. "Nah, Les, just the truth. I didn't do these things, so whatever he's digging for, he's not gonna find it." He clapped Martin on the back and moved away from the group. While they refocused their attention on the judge, McCormick spent some time examining their car.

"All right, Hardcastle," Martin said, "obviously, we don't think Skid did whatever you're talking about, so if we can help prove that to you, we'll be glad to answer your questions."

"Great," Hardcastle replied with a false grin. "First, Mr. Bozinski, maybe you could tell me the last time you saw McCormick?"

"A couple of weeks ago," Boz replied in an off-hand manner. "It was a Friday afternoon; he stopped by for a while and we all had some laughs."

"Anything out of the ordinary happen that day?"

"Out of the ordinary? You mean, like was he flashing wads of cash, or telling us all about the latest robbery techniques?"

"Not exactly what I had in mind," the judge answered dryly, "but was he?"

Bozinski shook his head. "Hardly. It was a joke, Judge. He looked over some of the cars; watched a couple of qualifying laps; we talked a little bit…we were just hanging out. I'll tell you, the strangest thing I know of that happened was Skid turning down that job offer—"

"Boz, don't…" McCormick's sudden attempt to interrupt was too late, but it still earned him a near lethal glare from Hardcastle.

"Let the man talk, McCormick." He turned his attention back to Bozinski. "What job offer?"

With an apologetic look toward his friend, Boz continued. "I don't know a lot of the details, but one of the teams needed a stand-in for a couple of weeks. Skid was here, and they asked him. Seemed like a great chance, but he said no."

Hardcastle glanced quickly over at McCormick, but the younger man was deliberately keeping his gaze anywhere but the judge. "Anything else happen I should know about, Mr. Bozinski?"

Boz shook his head. "Nah. He wasn't here all that long. When he left, we got him a crew badge and a key, and he said he'd be back when he could. There wasn't anything that happened that makes me think he was hiding something…not then, and not now."

"All right, then," Hardcastle said with a nod, "I think we're gonna go talk to some of the other folks. If you guys remember anything more, will you give me a call?"

Les Martin resumed his role as spokesman. "Yes, Judge, we'll be glad to do that." He turned to face McCormick. "Mark, let us know if there's anything we can do. And get your butt back out here and take some laps with us someday, you hear?"

McCormick grinned. "You got it. I'll be back to see you guys…" He hesitated, and shot a dark look at Hardcastle. "Well…as soon as I can," he finally finished.

**00000**

After leaving his friends, McCormick led the way through the pits at a brisk pace. "Still a few other people here we can talk to, Judge," he said casually.

"Hold it a minute, McCormick," Hardcastle called after him.

McCormick considered ignoring the request, but knew immediately that tactic wouldn't go over well with the judge. He paused, and turned with an innocent expression. "What's up?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you," Hardcastle replied. "What was that all about?"

"Sorry about that, Judge," McCormick answered, pretending to misunderstand. "I had forgotten the Martins weren't here when I stopped by. I'll get you to some of the other people I saw that day." He turned and started to move toward the next trailer.

"It's not that easy, kiddo."

McCormick turned back slowly to face the judge. "What?"

"I want to know about the job, McCormick," Hardcastle said plainly.

"It's no big deal," McCormick said with a slight shake of his head, "not even a real job. Now, I think maybe Walt is here today, and we—"

"Has it escaped your attention that this is not the time to be keeping things from me?"

McCormick sighed. "No, Hardcase, it has not escaped my attention for even a minute." He paused before continuing. He wasn't completely sure why he hadn't told Hardcastle about the offer to begin with, but now—of course—the judge felt like he'd been lied to. He would have to fix that. "It really isn't a big deal, Judge," he finally said. "One of the drivers got hurt, bad burn or something. Ended up with his hand and arm all bandaged up like a mummy, no way he was gonna be driving for a while. Anyway, the team didn't have a backup handy, and they really wanted to make the race. They offered me the ride for that weekend and the following. I said thanks, but no thanks. End of story."

Hardcastle examined the younger man closely. What was it he wasn't saying? "Why'd you say no?"

"It wasn't really that great a ride," McCormick said lightly. "The team's a little second rate. I mean, think about it, they didn't even have a backup driver."

"This also isn't the time to start lying to me, kiddo," Hardcastle told him firmly.

"That wasn't a lie, Judge," McCormick objected quickly, but he withered under Hardcastle's continued stare. "Well…maybe it's not the entire truth." He took a breath. "The rest of truth is that they wanted an answer right then. Not in an hour or even five minutes, but right then. They needed a commitment for the entire weekend, and right after the final flag on Sunday, they were packing up and heading to Georgia for the next week's race. It was a package deal, Judge, and there wasn't even time to make a phone call, much less have a long drawn out conversation about it. They needed an answer. I said no."

Hardcastle stared at him for a long moment. "How bad did you want it?" he finally asked.

"Bad," McCormick admitted softly. "I would've done just about anything for it…except go back to prison."

Hardcastle felt a wave of guilt as he heard McCormick try to hide the bitterness in his tone. "I wouldn't have put you back in prison!" he blustered.

McCormick simply stared, allowing his wide eyes and gently mocking smile to speak his disbelief.

"Well, okay," the judge relented after a moment, "I wouldn't have been too happy if you hadn't checked with me first."

"I'm pretty sure that's the understatement of the year, Judge. Besides, I guess it's all for the best. Think about it…the day I was here was the same day the phone calls started. Just imagine what would've happened if I'd stayed here to race and was late coming home that day. I think it would've been a very different cell you threw me in that weekend, and you sure as hell wouldn't have come back for me."

Hardcastle had to admit that McCormick was probably right, but he didn't like the nagging feeling that he was somehow responsible for costing the kid a dream. Plus, he hated that McCormick had apparently been too afraid to ask, or even mention it before now. Hardcastle could not explain his feelings in a million years, but that didn't make the stab of guilt any less real.

McCormick recognized the emotion glowing in the pale blue eyes, and felt his own wave of guilt. He hadn't been trying to blame the judge, not really. Deep down, he thought maybe that's why he had kept the secret in the first place, just to avoid this very scene.

He found a small grin. "Hey, for what it's worth, Hardcase, I thought you might've said yes eventually, which is more than that P.O. Dalem would've ever done." He didn't add that he also thought 'eventually' might mean after days of pleading and badgering, or that the judge's permission would certainly have come too late to matter. He was trying to make the old guy feel better, after all. McCormick shrugged. "There'll be other chances."

Hardcastle returned the grin, surprised by the young man's ability to ease his feelings. Hell, truth be told, the judge wasn't expecting to be having these feelings. He certainly didn't expect that McCormick would know how to handle them…or how to handle him. "Sure there will," he agreed. "So next time, just say yes." He fixed McCormick with a pointed glare. "And _then_ ask me."

McCormick laughed, pleased that his words seemed to have had the desired effect. "You got a deal, Kemosabe. Now, do you wanna stand here talking about my career plans, or do you wanna talk to some people?"

Hardcastle swung his arm expansively, indicating the continuing walkway. "I'm following you, kiddo."

**00000**

The judge was shaking hands with Walt King. McCormick had introduced him as one of the drivers, though Hardcastle wasn't sure how he managed to fold himself into a racecar. The man looked more like a linebacker for the Rams. "Good to meet you, Mr. King."

"Most of my friends just call me Kong," the man advised in a deep and pleasant voice, "and any friend of Skid's is a friend of mine."

"He's not exactly a friend, Kong," McCormick muttered under his breath, then immediately realized he had spoken too loudly when he felt Hardcastle punch him in the arm.

"Ow!" He rubbed at his shoulder. "Isn't there some kind of law against judicial abuse?" he complained.

"Completely justifiable," Hardcastle responded dismissively. He turned his attention back to the large racer, who was simply watching the exchange, confused. "So, Kong, what can you tell me about good old Skid Mark?"

"Tell you about what?" Kong asked with what seemed to be a shrug, though the massive shoulders barely moved. "He's a good driver, a good guy."

"A good guy?" Hardcastle leaned closer and spoke conspiratorially. "He's done time, you know."

Again, the would-be shrug. "So? He caught some bad breaks. Including you."

The judge ignored the insult. "So how often do you see McCormick these days?"

"Hardly ever. He was out here a couple of weeks ago one afternoon, but it had been a while before that. I heard he got arrested again, and I was afraid he'd gone back to prison. I was glad to see him out here. Then he told me about you."

"I'll bet," Hardcastle snorted. "Listen," he continued, "did it surprise you when you heard he had been arrested again?"

"Not once I heard what car he had taken. He was really close with Flip Johnson."

"I guess being able to hotwire a car isn't all that surprising, given all the time he's spent working on cars and all. But do you think McCormick has any other criminal skills?" Hardcastle paused for a moment, then added, "Like, do you think he knows how to crack a safe?"

Kong narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"I'm looking into a few robberies that have happened recently. Seems McCormick might be the logical suspect."

"Why?" Kong asked again. "Just because he's got a record? A lot of that record is your fault, you know, so it doesn't seem fair you hold it against him."

From the corner of his eye, Hardcastle could see McCormick's cocky smirk, but he was glad the kid had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Like it or not, McCormick's past does have some bearing on his present. That's why I'd like to know what other talents he might be hidin' away. What can you tell me about that?"

Surprisingly, Kong grinned. "Judge, I think you got the wrong idea about what goes on out here. Lots of guys on the circuit got some kind of past they'd just as soon put behind them. You learn real quick not to ask for more than is given, let people have their privacy. So if you're asking me if Skid ever confessed some dark secret about all the crimes he's ever committed, the answer is no. I don't think he runs around giving out some kind of criminal resume. And if you're asking me if I think he did the robberies you're talking about, that answer is also no."

"And what if all I'm asking is if you, personally, think he would be able to break into a house, open a safe, then leave the scene in a stolen car? Could he do that, if he wanted to?"

McCormick held his breath when he heard the phrasing of the question. He would never ask any of his friends to lie for him, but some of them could do more damage than others. Kong was one of them, and the judge had presented a question that would be difficult to evade truthfully.

Kong stared at the judge for a moment, suddenly remembering the time he'd been at the track late in the night with McCormick, and they had realized their job would be a lot easier with a couple of tools that were locked in one of the maintenance closets. McCormick had picked the lock on the door without thought, then opened the lock on the tool crib with equal ease. But nothing had really been stolen, just borrowed, and he didn't believe McCormick would just sneak into a stranger's home and rob them blind. He finally answered Hardcastle's question.

"I don't know. Seems to me that kind of work requires a lot of coordination and patience, and Skid's a little short on both. Have you ever noticed how clumsy he can be? It's amazing to me he can drive as well as he does."

Hardcastle chuckled, thinking that the kid did seem to always be tripping over or bumping into something, but he sobered when he saw the look of relief that flashed briefly over McCormick's features. Apparently, Kong had information the ex-con would prefer to stay hidden, and Hardcastle didn't like that one little bit.

"Mr. King," the judge said, his voice suddenly ice cold, "do you know the penalty for withholding information in an on-going police investigation? I'd hate for your career to end up taking the same kind of vacation as McCormick's."

Kong gaped at the judge, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. "What are you talking about? I'm not withholding anything. You asked me for an opinion and I gave it. What else do you want?" For all his size, Kong suddenly seemed much smaller as he fought off the fear of Hardcastle's threat.

McCormick interrupted. "Don't worry about it, Kong, you did great." He grabbed Hardcastle's arm to pull him away. "Can I talk to you privately, Judge?"

But Hardcastle wasn't budging. "I think I have more questions for Mr. King," he said roughly, "and I don't need you interfering." He attempted to pull away, but McCormick's grip was surprisingly firm.

"Come back and talk to him later if you want," McCormick hissed through clenched teeth, "but right now, talk to me." He turned the judge to walk away. "Thanks, Kong," he threw back over his shoulder as they left the bay. "Don't worry about Hardcase here. I'll talk to you later."

Hardcastle allowed himself to be steered away and managed to hold his tongue until they seemed safely out of earshot of anyone else. Then his temper exploded. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted.

"That's exactly what I was going to say to you," McCormick yelled back. "Just where in the hell do you get off, anyway? You want to treat me like some second-class citizen, like some kinda low-life common crook, well…I figure I signed on for it and I'll take it. But you've got no right, _no right_, to treat my friends like shit, too. Unless there's some law against being friends with Mark McCormick, they haven't done anything wrong. I won't have you threatening them and making them feel as worthless as you do me. So you just better back the hell off and leave them alone!" McCormick felt his hands clenched at his sides and fought the impulse to pummel the stony old face in front of him. He was pissed, but he sure as hell wasn't mad enough to go to jail.

Under other circumstances, Hardcastle might have responded to the words that so clearly betrayed some of McCormick's inner feelings. But at the moment, he had gone from mildly suspicious to highly angry in a very short amount of time, and that could be a deadly combination in Milton C. Hardcastle.

"If you're so worried about your friends, McCormick," Hardcastle bellowed, red-faced, "then they shouldn't be lying for you!"

"I know that!"

Realizing McCormick's answer wasn't a denial, the judge bit back the angry responses running through his head. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Then would you like to tell me what your buddy Kong was hiding?"

McCormick visibly deflated as he willed the anger to leave his body. He didn't allow his eyes to meet Hardcastle's as he answered softly, "It's not about these robberies, Judge."

"So?"

McCormick glanced up. "You know, Hardcase, you never asked me if I _could've_ done it, you only asked me if I _had_."

"Consider yourself asked, kiddo. Do you have that kind of talent in your bag of tricks?"

"Well, I hate to brag…" McCormick replied with a slight grin. He saw Hardcastle's gaze begin to harden, so he rushed on. "Yeah, Judge, I coulda done it. Is that what you want to hear? If the other houses are anything like yours, for instance, it would've been a piece of cake. I'll be happy to give you a demonstration someday, if you want." McCormick had a sudden idea. "Is that why it was easy for you to accept my innocence before, Hardcastle? Not because you thought I _wouldn't_ do it, but because you thought I couldn't?"

"Don't be dense, McCormick," Hardcastle barked at him. "Personally, I doubt if there's any type of crime you'd be incapable of pulling off, but I thought my special fondness for you might make me give you too much credit."

McCormick laughed briefly. "You kill me, Judge. I don't even know if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment."

Hardcastle shrugged. "Whichever you prefer, kid. But, listen, where'd you learn how to crack a safe? There's nothing like that in your file."

"It only ends up in your file if you get caught," McCormick replied dryly.

"I'll have to remember that," the judge answered in a tone that was suddenly strangely subdued.

McCormick looked at him sharply, and was surprised by the disappointment in the judge's expression. _When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? _

"Sheesh, Hardcase, lighten up. You don't really have public enemy number one living with you, you know. Listen, you spend as much time as I have on the streets and in the joint, you learn a lot of things you wouldn't pick up at the local vocational school. You learn 'em and you file 'em away, because you just never know when something might come in handy. Opening safes is on my list of filed away information.

"But, Judge, I was joking before. It's not in my record because I've never dug it _out_ of my files; there was nothing to get caught at. I'll be the first to tell you I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but those things don't include trying to make a living stealing from others." He looked sincerely into the judge's eyes. "It was a joke, Hardcase, I swear." He risked a slight grin. "Trust _your_ files, Judge. I'm bettin' they haven't let you down yet."

"No," Hardcastle answered slowly, "not yet." Like virtually everything else McCormick had ever said to him, the judge found himself accepting this answer at face value. He thought it was possible that approach would get him into trouble someday, but he felt strongly that today would not be that day.

"So," he finally continued, "did you and Kong do some of those stupid things together? Is that what you were afraid he'd spill the beans about?"

"Hardly, Judge. Where do you even come up with some of these ideas? I told you, he hasn't done anything wrong. Besides, who said I was afraid he'd spill the beans about anything?"

Hardcastle chuckled, but he wasn't about to tell McCormick that his face could be an open book. "Let's just say it's a good thing you don't want to lie to me, kiddo, 'cause I don't think you'd be all that successful at it."

Privately, McCormick disagreed with the assessment, though that certainly was not an argument he would make. But he gave in gracefully to the inquiring eyes that simply stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Okay, Judge. He saw me pick a couple of locks one time. No big deal…we were here and needed some tools from a locked closet, so I got 'em. Kong was either impressed or shocked; I'm not sure even he knows which. But he had a lot of questions, and it was kinda strange for a while. I'm pretty sure he has the impression I could get into more than a rinky-dink tool crib, if I were so inclined."

"And there's nothing else?"

"No, Hardcase, nothing else. If you promise you won't make any more threats, you can go back and ask him yourself."

"Maybe later," Hardcastle grinned, amused by McCormick's protective demeanor. "Right now, why don't you introduce me to some more of your friends?"

McCormick hesitated. "You know, Judge, I don't think this is really working out all that well. We should just go."

"Aw, you're just mad because your little secrets are coming out, McCormick. C'mon, I promise to be nice to the rest of 'em."

"Seriously, Judge," McCormick argued, "this isn't getting us anywhere."

"You really are worried about your secrets!" Hardcastle was surprised by the idea.

"Maybe a little," McCormick replied with a slight shrug, surprising Hardcastle even further. He went on quickly. "But not because of anything that's going on right now. I swear, if anyone out here knows anything about these burglaries, it won't have anything to do with me. But as for anything else…I don't know, Judge. There's certainly things in my past I don't figure you'd be too pleased with, so why would I want you finding out all the gory details? I think this might have been a bad idea."

Hardcastle looked at him skeptically. "Surely you don't think I've fallen for that innocent routine of yours, McCormick?"

McCormick snorted. "I think my first group shower in Q pretty much convinced me you weren't my biggest believer, Judge."

"Then what's the problem? I know you're not a saint, kid."

"I know, Hardcase," McCormick sighed. He shook his head. "I don't know what the problem is. Never mind. There isn't a problem. Talk to whoever you want." He started to lead the way toward the next trailer, and mumbled one final comment. "Don't suppose you could really think less of me, anyway."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes at the remark. Add that to the kid's earlier comments about the treatment he received, and you definitely had the makings of a McCormick meltdown. In the six short weeks McCormick had been in residence, the judge had already learned a couple of things about the young man's personality. First, the kid could slip into a funk quicker than anyone he ever knew. And second, he was no damn fun when he did.

He reached out and grabbed McCormick's arm to keep him in their relative privacy. "I heard that, kiddo."

"Sorry," McCormick snapped.

"Don't apologize, McCormick, just tell me what the hell is going on."

McCormick shook his head again. "Nothing, Judge." How did you tell someone that their disapproval was easier to deal with in the general form, rather than in the specific? Especially when their approval wasn't supposed to matter in the first place. He jerked his arm from Hardcastle's grip. "Let's just get this over with."

"McCormick."

The ex-con stopped after a single step, suddenly hating the amount of control he had given over to this man. "You said you wanted to talk to my friends, Hardcastle, so let's do it." He had no intention of discussing his discomfort.

"Would it be easier for you if I talked to them alone?" Hardcastle offered. "That way you won't have to be embarrassed by anything we might talk about. Not that you should be embarrassed, anyway, but I guess I can understand your concerns. I'll tell you about our conversations if it seems to be pertinent."

McCormick glanced at him suspiciously. "What? And just let you have all sorts of God-knows-what kind of information to use against me whenever you see fit? That doesn't sound a whole lot better."

Hardcastle refused to let himself get angry at the implication. "Tell me now if I might run across anything that would jeopardize your parole," he instructed firmly.

"Not unless you just decide I'm not the kind of sterling character you want to be associating with."

"You know what, kiddo? Maybe you should consider the fact that you can end this arrangement anytime you want. You don't have to work so hard at finding a way to make me push you aside. Just say the word and I can have you sent back with no fuss and no muss."

"You think that's what I want?" McCormick demanded. "Then you're crazier than even _I_ thought! I don't _ever_ want to go back, Hardcase, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be doing anything to try and force you into cuttin' me loose. Unless," he added hopefully, "you want to release me back into a more traditional parole arrangement. Then we might be able to talk."

Hardcastle shook his head. "No dice, hotshot. It's the gatehouse or the big house, and I'm not talking about _my_ house, either. Your choice."

McCormick laughed in spite of himself. "If those are my only choices, Judge, then the gatehouse wins hands down." He sobered immediately. "And how long does it stay my choice?"

"As long as you behave yourself, kiddo," Hardcastle answered without hesitation. "I figure the past is the past; I'm more concerned about the present and the future. As long as you keep your nose clean and stay straight with me, I won't need to make the choice for you. But…" He let the thought go unfinished for a moment, wanting to make sure he had McCormick's attention.

"I almost hate to ask, Judge. 'But' what?"

"You gotta stop coming unglued on me, kiddo. It's makin' me a little crazy. Trust me, if all I wanted was you behind bars, there's easier ways to go about it."

McCormick felt an embarrassed smile on his face. "Sorry about that, Judge. Of course you're right. I'm probably not going to say that too often, so enjoy it while you can. I'll try to keep the 'coming unglued' to a minimum." He didn't add that Hardcastle could do his part to make the whole situation a lot easier by keeping the yelling and the insults to a minimum, too. McCormick figured the old donkey knew that already, even if the only time he ever seemed to back down was when he had pushed his favorite ex-con further into a corner than he had probably intended. Oh, well, at least the judge kept him on his toes.

"So," Hardcastle broke into his thoughts, "what's it gonna be? You coming with me to talk to your friends, or do you want me to go alone?"

McCormick considered the question for a long moment. "Nah, Judge, you go ahead and have your fun. I'll just hang out with Kong for a while or something. I think you were on to something before. It won't be quite so strange if I don't have to know what you find out." He grinned fractionally. "Just promise me you won't be throwing the stuff in my face indefinitely."

"Wouldn't think of it," Hardcastle assured him, though the twinkle in his eyes was more mischievous than usual.

**00000**

"I'm not gonna tell you again to forget about it," McCormick yelled from his position underneath the 1981 Camaro. He snugged up the jam nut on the suspension link and rolled himself back into the light. "That oughta fix your alignment problem, Kong," he said, as he climbed up off the creeper. He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands clean. "But you need to get it back out there and make sure. You still have a whole day of practice before qualifiers."

"I will, Skid," Kong promised, "and I appreciate your help. But you're avoiding my questions. If I made things bad for you with that judge, I want to try and make it better."

"You didn't make anything bad," McCormick assured him for at least the tenth time. "Hardcastle gets a little worked up over things sometimes, and his mouth kicks into gear before his brain. It's nothing to be concerned about. He might come back and talk to you later, I don't know. If he does, just tell him the truth and everything will be fine."

"Does that advice apply to everyone, Skid?" interrupted a new voice.

McCormick and Kong both turned to face the speaker, and McCormick smiled in recognition. He held out his hand as he approached the newcomer. "Lenny, it's been a long time."

Leonard Archer, another driver McCormick had known for many years, grasped McCormick's hand and shook it warmly. "Yeah," he agreed, "long time. How've you been? I was sorry I missed your last visit. I'm glad you made it back. Good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Lenny. I didn't even know you had moved back here now."

"Not too long ago, actually. But, hey, I wanted to talk about you. What's up with this judge wandering around today? He's asking a lot of questions."

"Yeah, I know. He's with me; sorry if he's being a pain in the butt."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Mark," Kong interjected as he turned to head back to his car.

"He's right," Archer agreed. "I just wondered what was going on."

"It's a long story, Lenny," McCormick answered with a sigh. "Basically, I'm paroled in the judge's custody, working for him, and now he's starting to think I've been out burglarizing some houses. He's talking to a lot of my friends, trying to get some information and figure out what he really believes. I told him I didn't have anything to hide, so he decided to go alone."

"What do you think will happen?"

Remembering Hardcastle's instructions, McCormick answered with what he hoped was a lie. "Well, I'm pretty sure it starts with 'do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars' and ends with me sleeping with my eyes open for the next five to ten years."

"You seem to be taking it well," Archer observed.

McCormick leaned closer. "I don't plan on being around long enough for it to be a problem," he whispered. "Though just between you and me, I'd rather it didn't come to that."

"You'd rather stay with him than run?" Archer seemed genuinely confused.

"Running isn't a way to live, Lenny, take my word for that. Besides, it hasn't been all that bad with him. Hardcastle's crazy, but he's okay, too. Trust me, when it comes down to life in prison, life on the run, or life with a lunatic judge, I'll take the judge any day. He is definitely the lesser of the evils." McCormick grinned suddenly. "Of course, he can't ever know that. I just tell him he's the biggest donkey to ever walk the earth. But that's enough about Hardcase and me. What's up with you? Got yourself a sponsor?"

"Nah, not right now," Archer answered. "Ran a couple of weeks for the Dawson group when their driver got hurt, but that was just a temp thing."

McCormick pushed back the wave of jealousy that hit him. "Oh, yeah, I heard they needed someone. Local run and then a weekend out in Georgia, right? How'd it work out?"

Archer grinned. "Got my butt kicked here, but I managed to place out there. Not bad, I guess. Maybe they'll remember me."

"Hope so, Lenny. Life's always easier with a sponsor."

McCormick's eyes drifted down the walkway to the lone outline approaching them. Sheer determination was written in every inch of the figure, from the Yankees ball cap down to the well-worn tennis shoes. "And speaking of sponsors," he muttered, "looks like mine is back." He began to unzip the overalls he had slipped on for working on the car. "Guess it's time to go."

Archer looked behind him to see Hardcastle nearing the bay. "Hey, Skid, no offense, but I think I've seen enough of him for one day."

"Yeah, me, too. At least you can leave." He stepped out of the jumpsuit.

"Let me take that for you, Skid, and I'm getting out of here."

McCormick handed over the clothing to Archer with a grin. "Thanks, Lenny. Go ahead and beat it outta here. He won't care; I'm sure he's done with you."

Archer bundled up the jumpsuit and hurried out in the opposite direction.

McCormick grinned as he watched him go. Hardcastle clearly had a way with people. He called out a greeting as the judge approached. "Hey, Hardcase. You all done here?"

"Maybe," Hardcastle answered. "Is there any point in talking to Mr. King again?"

"What do you mean by that?" McCormick demanded.

The judge shrugged. "I just mean if he's been coached, there might not be much to be gained by asking him questions."

McCormick glared at him. "Listen, Hardcase…" but he broke off his reply when Kong walked up to join them.

"The only coaching that was going on, Judge Hardcastle," the large driver said firmly, "was when Skid told me just to tell you the truth about anything you asked. If you have more questions for me, I'll be glad to do just that."

"Actually, I just want to clarify the question I asked earlier. McCormick seems to think that your answer is that you really do believe he could pull off the robberies I'm looking into. Is that correct?"

Kong glanced over at McCormick, still not comfortable with actually voicing the words that seemed so damning. McCormick just shrugged, and indicated that he should continue.

"Yeah, I guess so," Kong finally replied. "I watched him go into a locked tool crib one time, and it kinda worried me. We talked about it some, and we talked about some of the trouble Mark had gotten into earlier. I was left with the impression that his natural talents extended beyond racing. But," Kong continued pointedly, "I absolutely do not believe that he did the things you're talking about. I told you before, he's a good guy."

Hardcastle nodded his head. "Okay, Mr. King, thank you. If any other questions come up, I'll be in touch." He turned his attention to McCormick. "All right, McCormick, we're done here."

"Okay." McCormick extended his hand to King. "Thanks, Walt; the laps were fun. I'll talk to you soon."

King grinned. "Don't thank me, you're the one that did all the work today. Come back anytime."

As they walked toward the parking lot, McCormick kept glancing over at Hardcastle, who clearly had something on his mind. They had reached the car before he got up the courage to ask what was going on.

"Find out anything interesting, Hardcase?"

"Not particularly. Most of these guys think you're probably innocent."

McCormick pretended to be hurt. "Only _most_ of them think I'm _probably_ innocent?" He grinned. "Which of them think I'm probably not?"

"It's not important," Hardcastle replied shortly as he rounded the Coyote to the passenger side.

"Wait a minute, Judge," McCormick stopped him from getting in the car. "It's not important, like it's _really_ not important and we're going home? Or, it's not important like it really _is_ and we're stopping at the police station on the way?"

"Don't be stupid, McCormick," the judge barked. "The station isn't anywhere near on the way home."

"Juuuuudge…"

Hardcastle almost smiled at the whine. He did so enjoy keeping the kid guessing, though this really wasn't a time for games. He settled for simply repeating his original statement. "I said it wasn't important, now let's go."

McCormick stared as Hardcastle climbed into the car, finished with the discussion. "Not important," he muttered disgustedly. The judge's attitude clearly said differently, but McCormick was prepared to let it go for the time being. He'd had more than enough soul-baring conversations for one day. He slid into the driver's seat and pointed the car toward home.

As they drove, Hardcastle stared silently out the window, lost in thought, and McCormick stared straight ahead at the road, trying to out-wait the judge.

McCormick finally relented. "You wanna stop for a pizza?"

"Not really."

McCormick sighed silently and continued his driving. After a few more miles, he tried again, though he wasn't sure this was a discussion he wanted to have. "You know I'd tell you anything you need to know, Judge."

Hardcastle glanced over quickly and saw the sincerity in the blue eyes. "I know you would, kiddo," was all he said as he turned back to the window.

McCormick shook his head and gave up, deciding he would just concentrate on the driving. Another fifteen minutes passed before the silence threatened to make him completely bonkers. He reached for the radio, but changed his mind at the last minute and pushed in the tape waiting in the cassette deck. He turned the volume to what the judge would consider a tolerable level and tried to develop an appreciation for the Cab Calloway that was coming through the speakers.

_"The Scat Song"_ was over and _"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea"_ was well under way when Hardcastle finally spoke. "McCormick, have you done anything in the last six months that I really should know about?"

McCormick concentrated on not becoming defensive. "You mean since I've been on parole, Judge? Something that would put me back inside?"

"Yeah, something like that." Hardcastle still didn't turn from the window, but McCormick was just glad he was talking, even if he was fairly certain he had already answered this question about a zillion times before.

"Well," McCormick answered with a slight grin, "I almost missed a parole appointment once, and then there was this proto-type racecar I took one time…"

"I'm serious, McCormick."

"So am I, Hardcase. You've had a front row seat to the mistakes I've made since I've been out, Judge, so you don't have to ask."

Hardcastle turned slowly to look at the ex-con. "And there's been nothing else?"

"Judge, what is it you want to know? Just ask me and I'll tell you."

"I did ask, kiddo. There's been nothing else?"

McCormick sighed again, more loudly this time. "No, Judge, nothing else. What are you looking for? What did you hear?"

"I told you, what I heard isn't important. I'm more concerned about what I hear from you."

"I'll remember that," McCormick answered with a slight smile. "But, honestly, Judge, taking the Coyote is it. I told you, I don't ever want to go back inside, and I've known that for a long time. I've been behaving myself since I got out."

"Not even any close calls? Misunderstandings? Something that might've scared the hell out of you until you got it worked out?"

"Hardcastle!" McCormick all but shouted. "Just tell me what you're talking about!"

But the judge was stubbornly silent as he sat staring at the driver, waiting. Whenever McCormick was holding something back, there was always a flicker of guilt in his eyes and a shadow of remorse that crossed his face. The signs were brief, but their presence seemed almost guaranteed. So Hardcastle waited. But each time McCormick chanced a glance away from traffic and looked his direction, the eyes were steady and the face as open as ever.

"Okay," Hardcastle finally said, and turned back to the window.

McCormick rubbed at his eyes, suddenly unbelievably weary. "Judge…." He realized he had no idea what it was he wanted to say, so he just kept his eyes focused on the road and tried to ignore the sounds of jazz that still played on the stereo.

About the time McCormick passed the _Welcome to Malibu_ sign, Hardcastle spoke again. "You want to pick up a pizza to take home, kid?"

McCormick glanced over and saw that most of the tension seemed to have left Hardcastle's body, and he felt himself relax as well. "Can I pick the toppings?"

Hardcastle grinned. "Sure, kiddo. I guess you've earned it. You've been pretty good today."

McCormick chuckled and pulled off the PCH toward the pizzeria. Whatever was bugging Hardcastle, he was glad it wasn't going to interfere with dinner.

**00000**

Hardcastle looked across the room at the youthful figure sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, balancing a plate of pizza and garlic bread on his knees, a beer bottle in his left hand and the television remote in his right. McCormick's attention was fixed on the television screen, waiting for the next pitch. When the Dodgers pulled off the double play to retire the Phillies, he cheered wildly and had to drop the remote to save the pizza from the floor. The judge laughed aloud at the sight, thinking that the kid was more entertaining than anything on television.

"What?" McCormick demanded in the wake of the laughter, glaring across the room. "I'm just enjoying the game."

"Me, too," the judge grinned. He paused a moment, then said, "Hey, kiddo, you ever spent any time down in San Diego."

"Not in quite a while," McCormick answered without thought, then looked at the judge with suddenly suspicious eyes. "Why?"

"Just curious," Hardcastle said vaguely. "What's a while?"

"A long time ago, Hardcase," McCormick answered harshly. "Before you and me ever met."

"Before I brought you here?" Hardcastle clarified. "Or before I sentenced you to prison?"

McCormick stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth and glared at the judge. He chewed slowly, then tried to swallow his anger along with the assorted toppings. He wasn't altogether successful.

"Before you sent me to prison, Judge," he finally answered. "And just for the record, I don't know why you wouldn't just ask me this stuff earlier when I was ready to talk about it instead of trying to make all nice with the pizza pie and lulling me into a false sense of security. What is with you, anyway? I musta told you ten times I'd tell you anything you wanted to know."

"You through?" Hardcastle asked blandly.

"Pretty damn close," McCormick spat out, rising from the sofa.

"Where do you think you're going?" the judge demanded.

McCormick paused briefly from his quest to retrieve the dropped television remote. He jerked his head around to glare pointedly at Hardcastle, deliberately aimed the gadget and turned off the ballgame before reclaiming his seat.

Hardcastle grimaced as he realized that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. The kid was right; he should've just asked him about this earlier.

"I was kinda mad earlier," he offered by way of explanation. "Well, not exactly mad," he corrected quickly, seeing McCormick's raised eyebrow, "but I was kinda upset, wanted to think some things through. I thought it might make the conversation go a little smoother."

A brief, harsh laugh escaped McCormick's lips. "I guess it was a good thought, Judge, even if it didn't work out too well." He gave a genuine grin. "What do you say we try again?" He paused briefly, pasted an overly genial smile on his face, and spoke in a tone that dripped exaggerated patience and consideration. "I spent a short amount of time in San Diego one time, Judge Hardcastle, perhaps in 1979 or '80. I have not returned to the fair city since that time, though I did enjoy my stay. Why ever on earth do you ask?"

Hardcastle stared at the twinkling blue eyes and put forth a mighty effort to maintain his stern expression. He managed to contain the full-fledged laugh that threatened to erupt, and settled for a small chuckle and a grin. "Another cute bit, hotshot. Don't know how you keep up."

"Hey, no worries, Hardcase, I'm full of 'em."

"You're full of something," the judge agreed.

He smiled as he watched McCormick lean back into the corner of the sofa, stretch his legs to their full length, and gather his plate and bottle back to him to finish his meal. He was amused by the attitude. The kid could definitely get into a snit in nothing flat, but he usually snapped out of it just as quickly, and nothing got in the way of mealtime. You could almost admire someone who could keep his priorities in order like that.

"So you ready?"

With his mouth full of pizza, McCormick couldn't quite grin—and certainly couldn't speak—but he bobbed his head up and down and motioned the judge to continue.

"So what were you doing in San Diego in '79 or '80?"

"Went for a race," McCormick answered thickly, trying to talk around the food. He swallowed, then grinned over at the judge. "Stayed for a girl."

Hardcastle shook his head wonderingly. "How long?"

"Oh, a couple of months, I guess. We crashed and burned pretty quickly, and I came back here."

"Is that the only time you were there?"

"No, I'd been there a couple of times before, but it's the only time I spent any real time there." McCormick continued to take small bites between his answers, avoiding the impulse to demand to know why the questions were coming at all.

"And that's the last time you were there?"

"Yep."

"Haven't been back even for a weekend visit, another race, anything?"

"Nope. I'd say I was back in L.A. about a year when I met this crazy judge and ended up in San Quentin for driving my own car. My time has been pretty well spoken for since then."

Hardcastle ignored the jab. "You didn't ever visit once you were on parole?"

"Gimme a break. My P.O. woulda had my ass for leaving the county without permission, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna _give_ permission. No, I've pretty much been a homebody lately, Judge."

"What about that trip to Tahoe?" Hardcastle asked suddenly.

McCormick looked over at him sharply, remembering the beautiful and all too brief escape to the lake with Melinda Randall, his parole officer's lovely secretary. "Just how close were you actually watching me, Hardcase?"

"Closer than your P.O., apparently," the judge replied dryly.

McCormick took a long drink from the bottle in his hand, his thoughts fixated on a new topic. "How come you didn't report me for being out of jurisdiction?" He was stunned at the idea.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Seemed pretty obvious you were just trying to impress the girl, which is hard to do if you end up thrown in a slammer somewhere. I figured you'd behave as long as she was with you, and I figured you'd be back. Turns out I was right."

"Yeah, Judge, you were right," McCormick answered as he lowered his head to examine the food on his plate. He certainly didn't want the judge seeing the sudden gratitude or the new glimmer of respect he felt sure was painted on his face.

"Any other excursions where you didn't belong, kiddo?"

McCormick started to shake his head, then looked across the room at the pale blue eyes that seemed to expect nothing other than the truth. "Just a quick trip up to Frisco once, Hardcase. Drove up one night and back the next day. No big thing."

"That's a long drive for an overnight trip. What were you doing?"

There was a moment of silence while McCormick debated the wisdom of the complete truth. "Went to see a friend, Judge," he said, hoping the partial truth would suffice. When Hardcastle simply continued to stare without comment, it became clear that wasn't really an acceptable approach.

"One of my friends made parole and needed a ride home. I picked him up."

"So, after less than six months of freedom, you violated the terms of your parole and left Los Angeles without permission to drive back to San Quentin and pick up another convicted felon who probably shouldn't have been with you any more than you should've been with him? That about sum it up?"

McCormick grinned sheepishly. "Sounds kinda dumb when you put it that way, Judge."

"It _was_ kinda dumb, hotshot. It's really kind of a miracle you made it long enough to take the Coyote. Is this the kind of decision-making I have to look forward to?" Hardcastle wasn't particularly surprised when McCormick didn't answer the facetious question, but he was surprised to see the young face flush and the laughing eyes cloud with apprehension. He wondered briefly if McCormick's fear would stay so close to the surface for the duration of his parole, or if he would someday accept the fact that he had been offered a safe haven at Gull's Way.

"McCormick," he growled, "if I didn't turn you in back then, what the hell do you think I'm gonna try and do now? I told you: the past is the past."

McCormick nodded his head and tried to accept the truth of the statement, though trusting any member of law enforcement was difficult for him, especially now, when he could feel the cold and soulless concrete walls of prison closing in around him with each passing day. He dragged his thoughts away from his deepest fear and back to the conversation.

"That's the extent of my travel adventures, Judge. You wanna tell me what it is you think I was doing down in San Diego?"

"Thinking about sticking up a convenience store," Hardcastle said simply.

McCormick almost choked on the final piece of crust he had just tossed into his mouth. "What! First of all, that's insane. And second of all, even if it weren't, how does someone get in trouble for 'thinking' about something?"

"Well, the story is that you were in the store buying something, and the cashier managed to see that you had a gun under your jacket. You didn't do anything at the time, but you went outside and sat on the curb, which is where you still were when the cops picked you up. Their idea was that you were just casing the place, then waiting for the other customers to clear out so you could go back in and make your move."

"And all this was supposed to have taken place since I've been on parole?"

"So the story goes."

"And is there an explanation for why I didn't end up right back in Quentin after I was arrested?"

"The story gets a little weaker at that point," Hardcastle admitted. "Something about managing to talk your way out of the jam. Gun wasn't loaded; you had taken it from someone earlier in the night while trying to keep them from doing something stupid, and you were sitting on the curb waiting for a friend who was supposed to meet up with you there."

"And you think all this actually happened?" McCormick demanded.

"Don't know, kiddo. That's why I'm asking."

"Well, you know, me being in San Diego—I can see that. Sitting outside a convenience store at night waiting on someone—I could see that, too. But, Judge, when it gets to the point where I'm carrying a gun and planning an armed robbery…well, I just don't see that. That's really not my style, Hardcase, and I'm a little bit disappointed you think it might be."

The judge felt strangely chastened by the comment, mostly because he really didn't believe the story, and yet still couldn't quite bring himself to dismiss it entirely. He hated the uncertainty in this entire situation. Before he could offer any kind of response, however, McCormick was speaking again.

"Besides, Judge, let's be realistic about this. I get picked up while on parole, a hundred miles from where I'm supposed to be, and I'm armed? What are the odds I talk myself out of that? I mean, I'm good, Judge, but even I'm not that good. No cop in their right mind is gonna let me walk. You know as well as I do my parole would've ended right there on the spot."

"Probably," Hardcastle agreed, though he found himself thinking that if anyone could talk himself out of that particular dilemma, it would be McCormick. "The story does seem a little strange, which is why I've got a call in to the cops down there."

McCormick stared across at him. "You've already called them? Before you even asked me?"

"You would prefer I call them after I ask you?"

"I'd prefer you not call them at all, Judge. I told you I would give you all the information you needed. Why even ask me at all, then?"

"I asked you because I wanted to hear your answer. Judges always want all sides of the story, you know, kiddo."

The response was too reasonable to argue with. "Okay." McCormick paused a moment, then asked, "So who is it that fed you this line of crap story, anyway?"

Hardcastle shook his head firmly. "Don't worry about that, McCormick."

"Don't worry about it? Judge, how am I supposed to help you figure this out if you won't tell me what's going on?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "Maybe you're not gonna help me."

McCormick closed his eyes briefly. "Are we back to that again, Judge?" He opened his eyes and looked over at the solemn features staring back at him. "I thought we settled that this morning?"

Another shrug. "Hard to know in a case like this, kid. We'll play it by ear and see how it goes."

"But if I know who it was," McCormick protested, "maybe I'll know why he's lying to you and what he hopes to accomplish by making me look bad."

"Maybe you could just tell me if there's anyone out there who has a reason to lie to me or who _would_ accomplish anything by making you look bad," Hardcastle suggested.

It was McCormick's turn to shrug. "I don't know, Hardcase. I thought they were my friends. I mean, sure, I'm closer to some of them than others, but I wouldn't have thought any of them would want me to go back to prison. If I had to tell you someone off the top of my head who I thought would do this, I'd say none of them."

"First of all, kiddo, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You're assuming that the person who told me about San Diego and the person behind all these robberies are one and the same."

"Well, yeah. Or at least connected. I think it's too big of a coincidence that two different people are suddenly out to get me in trouble with you for completely unrelated reasons. Don't you?"

"Probably. But we can't be rushing to these kinds of decisions. Let's wait and see what happens next, okay? But, just to clarify, there's no one out at the track that you would characterize as unfriendly? No one with a bad history or a running grudge?"

McCormick shook his head. "Not really, Judge. I mean, when I was younger, there were a couple of guys that I didn't get along with so well—usually because of a girl—but that was a long time ago. And none of them are still traveling in the same circles anymore, anyway, so I know you didn't meet them today."

"It's a pretty competitive environment, McCormick. I can't believe it's all wine and roses out there. Are you sure you're telling me everything?"

"I'm sure, Judge," McCormick answered, with no trace of the resentment Hardcastle had somehow expected the question to generate. "The competition pretty much stays on the track where it belongs. If it didn't, people would go crazy, and crazy people make dangerous drivers. No one is looking to make the track any more dangerous than it already is. Besides, you can spend a lot of time with these guys, and you can really get to know 'em. They become your friends, and even though friends fight sometimes, they usually make up before it's all said and done. Honestly, Hardcastle, whoever it is that turns out to be behind this…it's gonna surprise the hell out of me."

Hardcastle found himself impressed with the simple sincerity of the answer, and realized suddenly that if McCormick turned out to be anything other than one hundred percent innocent in this whole mess, it was gonna surprise the hell out of _him_.

"What else do you want to know, Judge?" McCormick asked, still without anger, wanting only to see trust finally return to the blue eyes that watched him so closely.

The judge smiled slightly. "Well, kiddo, unless you have anything else you're just itchin' to tell me…I'd really like to know who's winning the ballgame."

McCormick grinned as he reached for the forgotten remote control. "Fifty bucks says the Phillies pull it out."

"Against the Dodgers? Besides, I thought you were rooting for L.A.?"

"Doesn't mean I think they're gonna make it," McCormick answered.

"McCormick, I don't wanna take your money."

"Does that mean we're on?"

Hardcastle laughed. "Yeah, kiddo, we're on. Just don't come crying to me when you're broke."

McCormick rose from the sofa and tossed the remote over to Hardcastle. "I'll grab us a couple of beers, Hardcase. You go ahead and start watching my fifty dollar bonus come to life."

The judge caught the remote, clicked on the television, and settled back comfortably into his favorite chair, all the while thinking that Mark McCormick had been a very good choice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

McCormick peeked out from beneath the blanket and tried to focus his bleary eyes on the clock on the bedside table. "Are you crazy, Hardcase?" he grumbled through the covers. "It's 5:45 a.m. In the morning!"

Hardcastle laughed at the indignation. "You didn't get any chores done yesterday, kiddo, and then I let you goof off all night, too. I even bought you pizza with all the toppings, so now it's time to pay the piper. The hedges around back need trimming and the gutters are going to have to be cleaned. It's supposed to rain this weekend, and I don't want them clogged up and causing a leak."

McCormick groaned. "It's not even daylight, yet, Judge. How am I supposed to do any chores when I can't even see? If I fall off the ladder and break my neck in the dark, your gutters will never get cleaned."

Hardcastle pulled the blanket roughly off the bed. "By the time you get dressed and have something to eat, McCormick, it will be light. Now get your butt out of bed and put some clothes on. I'll even make breakfast for you." The judge turned and started down the stairs. "And don't make me come back up here, kiddo, or there's going to be trouble."

McCormick threw one pillow at the judge's retreating back and buried his own head beneath another, but he knew his sleep was over for the night. He had no doubt that Hardcase would find some more than suitable punishment if he were to drift off again now. After a few minutes, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of grungy work clothes. It was going to be a long day.

**00000**

McCormick finished his breakfast in the early morning sunlight. He really didn't want to do the gutters, but he figured that might be the logical place to start. He sure didn't want to be up on the roof in the heat of the mid-day sun. He yawned loudly and stretched as he rose from the table.

"You know this is cruel and unusual, Hardcase."

Hardcastle grinned. "Judicial license, kid. Now you probably want to get a move on before it gets too late."

Recognizing that further discussion was pointless, McCormick simply headed for the tool shed to begin his chores. Fifteen minutes later, he was on the roof, brushing through one of the natural valleys in the shingles, and gathering small piles of leaves.

As he gave himself over to the rather mindless work, McCormick's thoughts drifted back to last night's dinner conversation, and he wondered for at least the fiftieth time about the identity of the unknown accuser that had filled the judge's brain with such insane ideas. He still didn't know whether to be pleased that Hardcastle hadn't thrown him immediately into jail or annoyed because he had called the San Diego police, anyway. Honestly, he needed to get some kind of clue as to what the judge was actually thinking.

McCormick reached unconsciously for the medallion hanging around his neck, hoping to find a moment of clarity in its cool touch, but he was startled to feel only bare skin. He patted his torso frantically, thinking the chain had somehow just fallen into his shirt, but it was nowhere to be found. He thought quickly, trying to remember the last time he had actually noticed the medallion consciously, and was surprised to find that it might have disappeared sometime the previous day without his even knowing. He knew he'd had it yesterday morning when he showered, but beyond that…

Suddenly, the morning silence was shattered by a single bellow from below.

"MaaCoorrmiick!"

The missing medallion was forgotten immediately and his heart leaped into his throat as McCormick jumped to his feet and ran for the edge. He clambered quickly down the ladder and rushed into the house through the back door. "Judge?" he yelled frantically, "Where are you, Judge?"

McCormick ran from the kitchen and toward the front of the house. "Judge!" he shouted again.

"I'm in here, McCormick," came the answering yell. "Quit your yammering."

McCormick turned toward Hardcastle's voice and rushed into the den, calmer now, but still worried. "Judge? Are you okay?" He stopped cold at the sight of the judge standing in front of a destroyed picture and an open wall safe.

"I've been robbed!" Hardcastle screamed.

_Oh, God. _McCormick had opened his mouth to say that he would call the police when the judge went pushing past him and out the door. "Judge?"

"My car!"

McCormick turned immediately to follow the older man, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was gonna be bad.

He found the judge in an empty garage. He stared at the sight wordlessly, knowing he needed to say something, but having no idea what. "Judge…" he began hesitantly.

Hardcastle whirled around to face the ex-convict. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, McCormick," he said, voice low with fury. He shoved past the young man again as he headed back toward the house.

"But..." McCormick let his objection trail off when he realized the judge wasn't stopping. Besides, he still had no clue what he had intended to say. He thought briefly that he should just hide out in the gatehouse until this particular storm blew over, but he had the uneasy feeling that might just make matters worse. Hoping for the best, he followed Hardcastle back into the house.

As McCormick entered the kitchen, he heard the last of Hardcastle's conversation with the police.

"Yeah, Frank, I'll keep him here. See you soon." The judge hung up the phone and turned to face McCormick.

"You don't have to 'keep' me anywhere, Judge," McCormick said angrily. "I'm not planning on leaving."

"Good," Hardcastle growled. "Then sit down and let's talk for a minute."

"Oh, _now_ you wanna talk. A minute ago you didn't want to hear anything I had to say, but now you want me to sit down and have a conversation like we're best friends, or something. Well, you know what, Hardcase? Maybe I don't feel like talking. Maybe I'll just go watch TV or something, since apparently I'm going to be 'kept' here for a while." McCormick stormed out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

"Don't touch anything in the den, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed brusquely as he hurried after the young man. "There's gonna be enough questions without finding your prints all over the safe and everything."

McCormick froze in the hallway. "What?" He turned and looked at the judge uncertainly. "You don't think my prints are already there?"

Hardcastle allowed his eyes to meet McCormick's and held his gaze, waiting for the truth. "Are they?"

McCormick spoke quietly, sincerely, and without hesitation. "No, Judge, they're not. There are so many reasons I wouldn't steal from you, Hardcastle, I couldn't begin to list them all. I won't ask you to trust me, Judge, even though you can. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"That's a pretty broad offer, McCormick," the judge replied, his tone suddenly teasing. "I might want a lot."

McCormick shrugged. He wasn't kidding. "I know how bad this is, Judge, and it's not something I can fix on my own. I'm not thrilled with the idea, Hardcase, but I need your help. I'm asking you to keep me out of jail. Please."

_Again with the surprises_, Hardcastle thought. Still, he really didn't think the kid had done this. The eyes would've given him away in a heartbeat. Finally, the judge spoke.

"The police are gonna question you, kid. And they might want you to take a lie detector test. Whatever happens, you just need to tell them the truth, and things will be fine."

"Okay," McCormick agreed with a nod, hoping it would be as simple as the judge implied. He glanced toward the crime scene. "You wanna watch TV at my place instead?" he offered, hoping the judge wouldn't tell him to get back to the chores. Gutters suddenly seemed a lot less important now.

"Nah, I need to look around here and make sure nothing else was taken. I think it's a good bet that it will just be the safe and the car, just like all the others, but I should check, anyway. You go ahead, though. I'll let you know when the cops want to see you."

McCormick stared. "I can go?"

"It's not like you live on the moon, McCormick," Hardcastle barked. "It's just the gatehouse. You did say you weren't planning on leaving, didn't you?"

"Yeah," McCormick replied with a small smile, "that's what I said."

"Then get outta here, and let me get on with what I'm doing!"

Feeling slightly better, McCormick disappeared out the front door.

**00000**

The rapping on the door caused McCormick to jump. Hardcastle wouldn't knock, so it had to be the police. He took a steadying breath and opened the door.

"Milt's idea of keeping an eye on you is a bit different than mine," Frank Harper said without preamble.

"Yeah, well, it worked," McCormick replied shortly, as he motioned the officer inside. "I'm still here."

"I thought I'd take a look around," Harper continued, ignoring McCormick's comment.

"Got a warrant?" McCormick teased.

Harperdidn't seem amused. "It's Milt's house, in case you've forgotten, McCormick. And even if it wasn't, didn't your P.O. tell you about all the civil liberties you get to give up as long as you're on the state's honor roll?"

"Jeez, Lieutenant, lighten up. It was a joke. Search the place; I don't care. What do you think you're gonna find, anyway? Stacks and stacks of small, unmarked bills and Hardcastle's last will and testament? Good luck, 'cause I'm pretty sure all you're going to find is a bunch of dust bunnies and last week's pizza." McCormick threw himself onto the sofa and waited while Harper rummaged through the gatehouse, though he had the distinct feeling the detective's heart wasn't really in it.

After completing the search to his satisfaction, Harper returned to the living area and pulled up a chair. "So, there wasn't anything here," he reported.

McCormick looked at him sideways. "If you're expecting me to thank you or something, Frank, don't hold your breath." He had a sudden thought. "Hey, you didn't happen to find a Saint Jude medallion on a chain laying around, did you? It's disappeared somewhere, and I haven't had a chance to look for it."

Harper shook his head. "Nope, nothing like that. Sorry. You know," the detective continued conversationally, "the big money's on you being behind this thing."

McCormick sat up and turned to face Harper. "That may be where the big money is, Lieutenant, but the _smart _money is on the other side. People betting against me on this one are going to lose big."

Harper grinned fractionally. "Pretty big talk for someone looking at the kind of trouble you are."

McCormick returned the grin. "If I quit talking every time I was looking at trouble…"

"Yeah, I got it. Okay, Mark, let's have it. Tell me what you know about the break-in."

"I know it happened," McCormick answered with a shrug. "I know I was in the den until almost two, and Hardcastle had me up again at the crack of dawn doing his insane chores, so there wasn't a huge window of opportunity. I know the judge is the one who found the safe open when he went into the den today around seven, and then we checked the garage and the Corvette was gone. Beyond that, I don't know much at all."

"You said you were in the den until two this morning. What about Milt?"

McCormick shook his head. "He turned in earlier, maybe around twelve or twelve-thirty." He grinned suddenly. "He was losing too much money to stay up any longer."

"So you were alone in the den?" Harper continued, ignoring the brief levity.

"Yeah," McCormick said sullenly. He was almost ready to believe he was guilty himself.

"But you didn't do this?"

"No, Lieutenant, I didn't do this. I didn't open the safe, I didn't take the 'Vette, and I didn't sit by and let someone else do it, either. I. Am. Not. Involved."

McCormick threw his hands up in frustration and leapt to his feet. He paced almost frantically around the living room. "Frank—Lieutenant—" He threw his hands up again and shook his head roughly. He was lost. "God. I don't even know what I'm trying to say."

He met Harper's eyes. "Look, you're trying to protect your friend, Frank, and I know that. I don't have the answers to this job any more than I had the answers to all the others, but I do know it wasn't me. I also don't have a way to convince you that I wouldn't betray him, but I never would."

He seated himself on the sofa again. "What else do you want to know?"

Harper studied him closely. "Will you take a polygraph?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Maybe that'll convince you guys."

Harper softened his tone. "I think Milt is already convinced," he admitted.

McCormick smiled slightly. "You don't think he should be." It wasn't a question.

"Not really, I'm sorry to say. I want this to work out for him."

McCormick looked at the detective skeptically. "For him? I'm the one going back to the slammer if it doesn't work out. What's it matter to him?"

"Don't worry about what matters to him," Harper replied, and McCormick thought maybe the detective had realized he had come close to saying too much.

Harper turned the conversation around."What I'd like to know," he continued, "is if it matters to you. What, exactly, do you get out of this whole thing?"

Blue eyes stared in disbelief across at Harper. "Are you kidding, Lieutenant? Look around you. In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't exactly a six-by-eight concrete room, and you gotta drive about fifty miles to see bars on windows."

"So you get your freedom. Anything else?"

"I get _relative_ freedom," McCormick corrected. "But it's still a hell of a lot better than the alternative. As for anything else…I got to put Martin Cody in jail. That's what the judge offered me, that's what I accepted."

Harper dug for more. "And?"

"And _what_, Lieutenant? What kind of an answer are you after? You want me to say how wonderful it is to be here? That it's changed my life forever? That every day I give thanks for being lucky enough to come up before Hunt 'em, Hear 'em and Hang 'em Hardcastle?"

McCormick narrowed his eyes for effect. "I don't know which one of you is loonier."

The detective grinned. "So it hasn't changed your life?"

"Okay, you got me there, Frank. My life has definitely changed. As for how it's changed …I'll leave that to your imagination."

"You know I want to take you in," Harper said suddenly.

McCormick felt his throat tighten and tried to swallow. He nodded slowly. "I figured. Can I…? I mean, is there anything…?" He shrugged in resignation. "Never mind. Why don't we just go? I don't know why we're even having this conversation here. Aren't you guys just gonna ask me all these same questions downtown?"

"You did say you'd take a polygraph," Harper reminded him.

McCormick nodded again. "Yeah, Frank, I will."

"Good. Milt said he'll bring you down in a couple of hours."

McCormick looked up suddenly. "What? I thought you said—"

"I said I _want_ to take you in," Harper interrupted. "I didn't say I was going to. Milt asked me to wait."

"Milt asked…." McCormick was too surprised to finish his sentence.

"He made a pretty convincing argument," Harper explained, "about how we'd have a stronger case if we waited for the lab work. Take you down now, and we might have to cut you loose before we get everything lined up, and it always looks bad if we have to make multiple arrests before we can file the charges."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to look bad," McCormick said weakly.

Harper rose and started for the door, but McCormick was still too stunned to follow.

"There is something you need to know, McCormick." The detective turned back and locked on to the gaze of the ex-convict. "If you run now, while you're the suspect in an on-going criminal investigation, that's going to be a hundred times worse than just skipping out on your parole. Hardcastle would take a lot of heat over something like that."

"I'll say this a million more times if I have to, Frank…I'm not going anywhere. Don't forget that his way of keeping an eye on me has been working so far."

"So far," Harper agreed just before he disappeared out the door.

McCormick remained on the sofa and wished—for just a moment—that he could find it in himself to actually run.

**00000**

It was almost dark when Hardcastle found McCormick behind the house, trimming the hedges. "Hey, kiddo, I been lookin' for ya."

The young man looked up from his work. "Getting worried?" He tried to hide behind his typical cocky grin, but the tone was far too heavy and there was no humor in his eyes.

Hardcastle recognized immediately that he couldn't tease. "Nope, not worried at all. I just hadn't seen you since we got back from the station."

He didn't add that he had been surprised by the absence, though it had all but shocked him. He had assumed that McCormick would be dancing around the place after passing the polygraph, wanting to rub it in, but, instead, the kid had pulled a mysterious disappearing act.

McCormick indicated the expanse of lawn. "The back forty down by the gardener's trailer needed a trim, and I had to finish the gutters and these hedges."

"That's a lot of work, considering we've been otherwise engaged for most of the day. Why don't you take a break? The hedges will still be here tomorrow."

_But will I? _McCormick thought grimly. Aloud he said, "I'm almost done, Judge."

"Well, okay. I just wanted to tell you I heard from the San Diego PD, and they can't find any record at all of you ever being busted down there."

McCormick turned his attention back to the clipping. "Okay."

"Gonna say I told you so?" the judge asked lightly.

"Nope."

Hardcastle sighed in frustration. "If you're waiting for me to say I'm sorry, McCormick…."

"I'm not."

"Look, kid, I had to check it out; it's what I do."

"I know." McCormick said quietly. He looked up. "Ready to tell me yet who blew me in?"

"Not really," Hardcastle answered. "Maybe soon."

McCormick shook his head. "Please tell me you're at least checking him out, too?" He tried to keep his voice firm, but he knew that he only sounded irritated. And maybe a little bit scared.

"Of course I am, kiddo. I just told you; it's what I do." He paused a moment, and took in the weariness that was increasingly becoming a part of McCormick's bearing. This case was definitely taking its toll. "I wish you'd come in the house now," he added softly.

"I'm almost done, Judge," McCormick said for the second time. "But I think I'll just turn in after my shower. I'm pretty beat."

"You're not comin' in for dinner?" Hardcastle seemed genuinely disappointed.

"I don't think so. I'm just gonna get some rest. It's been kind of a long, weird day."

"Yeah, I guess," Hardcastle agreed glumly. Then he looked at McCormick with a slight grin. "Sarah made pot roast with that gravy you like so much," he said enticingly.

McCormick looked at the judge wonderingly. Why did the guy care whether or not he came in for dinner? But as soon as the question popped into his head, McCormick knew the answer: Hardcastle was feeling guilty for not trusting the younger man, and was looking for a sign that he had been forgiven.

McCormick smiled slightly. Part of him was touched at the judge's concern. Another part of him thought the old man _should_ feel guilty. Why ask questions if you weren't going to believe the answers, anyway? But the largest part of him understood that it was simply far too early in their relationship for blind faith, and Hardcastle had to seek out as much information as possible. Also, there was no denying that the judge really had demonstrated an amazing amount of faith just by allowing him to remain free, especially after this morning. Maybe he should say that he appreciated the gesture.

"You know, Hardcastle," he began, "believe it or not, I'm actually pretty glad that you check things out like you do. Most P.O.s would've had me at a revocation hearing after the first phone call. I'm glad that's not your style."

He gave the bush in front of him one last snip and waved the shears in Hardcastle's direction. "Even with the chores, this yard is much nicer than the one at Quentin." McCormick grinned. "And the food's better, too. I think I might have some of that pot roast, after all."

Hardcastle smiled as he bent to pick up the pile of clippings McCormick was raking together. Again, the kid seemed to know just what he needed to hear. It was kind of unnerving if you really thought about it, so he decided not to. For the moment, he was content just to feel the small spread of warmth that was becoming more common with each passing day that McCormick spent at Gull's Way.

**00000**

McCormick was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on lunch when he heard the front bell ringing. "Can he not just put something down and open the door?" he muttered as he headed toward the sound.

He was still grumbling when he opened the front door to find Frank Harper standing on the porch. "Hey, Frank," he greeted, surprised. "Hardcastle isn't here right now, but come on in. He'll be back soon."

Harper stepped into the foyer. "That's okay, Mark. I actually came to see you."

The words sent an immediate chill down McCormick's spine, and he unconsciously took a step backward. "What?"

"I have some news," Harper replied as he took a step toward McCormick.

McCormick backed up again. He was getting a bad feeling about this. "What?" he asked again, not certain he could manage anything more complex.

"We found the Corvette." Again, Harper closed the distance between himself and McCormick.

"That was quick; it's great," McCormick grinned. He saw the grim expression on the detective's face. "Unless it's…. I mean, they didn't strip it or anything?"

"No, nothing like that. The car's fine."

"The judge will be glad to hear that," McCormick said uneasily. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"We pulled some prints off the car," the lieutenant said slowly, taking another step toward McCormick.

The lean form backed up again. "And?"

"Mostly Milt's, of course." Another step.

McCormick tried again to put distance between himself and the officer. "Mostly?"

Harper moved toward the ex-con. "And yours."

McCormick's last step backed him into the stairway banister post; the lieutenant stopped just inches in front of him. McCormick held his hands in front of him, wanting to ward off whatever was coming next. "I live here, Frank," he explained. "Of course my prints are in the car."

"That car's important to Milt, you know that?"

"Yeah, of course," McCormick nodded.

"How's it handle?"

McCormick snorted. "Handle? I don't drive it, Frank. I'm strictly a passenger."

"Then you wanna tell me how your prints ended up on the steering wheel and the gear shift?"

"The steering…." McCormick's answer trailed off as he grasped the severity of the problem. "I didn't do this, Frank," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "The most driving I do in the 'Vette is to move it from the garage to the drive to wash it…." He grinned suddenly. "Which I did just last week. That's gotta be where the prints came from."

"That's interesting," Harper commented mildly. "You should also know we found the car over on Durango Drive."

McCormick blanched. "By my old apartment?"

"Exactly." The detective stared coldly at the innocent look on McCormick's face. "You really expect me to believe you're not involved in this?"

"Hardcastle does," McCormick answered simply, as if that should explain everything.

"He doesn't know about the car yet," Harper pointed out.

_That's true_, McCormick thought to himself. To Harper, he said, "It won't matter," and hoped desperately that he was correct.

"Then it's just as well he's not here to see me take you in, isn't it?"

"But I passed the polygraph yesterday!" McCormick objected.

"Clearly, you lie well."

"Frank…"

"Get against the wall, Mark," Harper said calmly.

McCormick fought the panic. "Lieutenant," he pleaded, dropping the familiarity as he fell into a more familiar relationship with law enforcement, "let's wait for Hardcastle. He'll be back in just a few minutes."

"Nope. You've been jerking him around long enough. Now, get against the wall."

McCormick tried again, his voice rising in conjunction with his fear. "Let's be reasonable, Lieutenant. It's his car. This is his house you're dragging me out of. And I'm his…whatever in the hell I am. This concerns him; he should be involved."

"We're through discussing, McCormick," Harper said as he grabbed the younger man's arm and swung him toward the wall. "Now. Get. Against. The. Wall."

McCormick caught himself as the lieutenant shoved him into the wall. "You're making a mistake, Frank," he said quietly, but he offered no further argument.

Harper searched McCormick quickly, then locked the man's wrists behind him. McCormick heard him begin with the usual recitation, "You have the right to remain silent…" but he tuned it out. This was unbelievable.

"I don't need to hear that, Lieutenant," McCormick snapped, but Harper continued with the Miranda.

The irony wasn't lost on McCormick. "Wouldn't want the case to be thrown out on a technicality," he muttered.

Only after he had finished with the Miranda reading did Harper pull his prisoner back around to face him. "All right, let's get out of here."

McCormick didn't budge. "At least leave him a note, Lieutenant."

Harper stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"I'm supposed to be here, Frank," McCormick explained patiently. "If he comes home and finds me gone, he's gonna—"

"Throw your ass in jail?" Harper interrupted. "I'm just beating him to it."

"Lieutenant…."

"Oh, all right," Harper relented, "we'll leave him a note." He grabbed McCormick's arm and pulled him toward the den.

Harper and McCormick both whirled around as they heard the front door open behind them.

"Frank, what the hell is going on?" Hardcastle growled as he stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"Judge," McCormick began, "am I glad to see you. They found—"

The judge interrupted coldly, "I want to hear it from Frank."

McCormick's face flushed with anger, but he clamped his mouth shut over his reply.

"We found your car, Milt," Harper began, "and it's fine. You can come pick it up later this afternoon."

"I'm glad to hear it, but what's going on with McCormick?"

"I'm taking him in, Milt. We found his prints in the car."

"Of course his prints are in the car, Frank. He lives here."

"That's what _I_ said," McCormick said petulantly. He flinched slightly at the withering glare he received from Hardcastle. "Sor-ry," he added under his breath.

Harper continued his explanation. "We found the car over in front of his old address, and the location of the prints make it clear he's been driving the car, Milt. You been lettin' him do that?"

Hardcastle shook his head, not looking at McCormick. "Not really. But he did move it to and from the driveway the other day when he washed it."

McCormick shot a triumphant look at Harper, but the lieutenant wasn't backing down.

"Milt, you need to let me take him in. You'll be thinking differently in a while." The officer took McCormick's arm and moved him toward the front door. "I'm sorry it's working out like this."

The judge took a few steps into the room and planted himself in front of the other two men. A quick glance at McCormick's face gave him the final reassurance he sought. He pulled Harper's hand off McCormick's arm, and turned the detective back toward the den. "Let me talk to you a minute, Frank," he said, and Harper allowed himself to be steered toward the other room.

"And you, hotshot," Hardcastle called back over his shoulder, "just stay put."

_And just where do you think I'd go? _McCormick thought angrily, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and simply nodded his agreement. He plopped himself down on the stairs as he watched the others disappear behind the closed door of the den.

"You're too close to this one, Milt," Harper said, as soon as the door closed behind them.

Hardcastle smiled slightly, suddenly understanding McCormick's frustration at being told the same thing recently. "Have you ever really known that to be the case?" he asked his old friend. "You even went with me to Louisiana. Did you see me backing off Beale?"

"That was a little different," Harper objected. "First of all, there was _no_ room for doubt in that case, and secondly, he hadn't been here long enough to get under your skin."

The judge ignored the second comment. "You're right, Frank, there was no room for doubt then, but there is now. If McCormick explained to you how his prints got on the car, why are you still trying to take him in? I know you like him, so why are you so eager to lock him up?"

"I'm not eager, Milt, and I wish it could be different, but I'm not gonna stand by and let him…." He trailed off, hoping to find a way to avoid the full brunt of the Hardcastle rage.

"You're not gonna let him _what?"_ Hardcastle demanded.

"Hurt you," Harper finally blurted, and ignored the following glare from the jurist. "I'm just not gonna let that happen. There is plenty of probable cause going on around here to support an arrest. I'm gonna take him downtown and question him and see if we can't get something out of him. My guess is he feels bad about ripping you off—you know he's not really such a bad kid—so maybe he'll come clean quick and we can put all the pieces together. Either way, we'll buy ourselves some time to make the case and he'll be out of here and away from you."

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "He can't feel bad about something he didn't do, Frank, and you don't need to be worrying about me. I can take care of myself.

"You know," he continued thoughtfully, "I think maybe Beale took off so quick because he knew he'd never 'get under my skin', as you put it; knew things would never really change between us. But McCormick…I don't know. McCormick seems to think if he does all the right things, then we'll be…well, I'm not sure what he thinks we'll be, but he seems willing to try to make it happen. He didn't rob this place, Frank, and he didn't take the Corvette. I'd bet anything on it.

"He gave you a reasonable explanation, you know. He answered all of your questions yesterday, and passed the polygraph with flying colors. And don't you think it's a little odd that out of six or eight jobs, this is the only one he got sloppy enough on to leave prints? Pretty convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"Criminals always make a mistake eventually," Harper pointed out.

"Usually," Hardcastle agreed, "but that's not what happened here. The kid was in the car and he left some prints. And since he's about the only other person who's ever in that car, it makes sense that you didn't find any others. Whoever is pulling these jobs, they're careful, and they don't leave clues. There aren't any of McCormick's prints on the safe, you know. You think he had his gloves on to grab the money, and then took them off to take the car? Not likely."

"Not likely," Harper admitted, "but possible. I still think you're too close to this. Let me take him in and see what we get out of him."

"No," Hardcastle said flatly.

Harper was startled. "What?"

"I said no. You're not taking him, because I'm not gonna press charges, and you don't have anything against him on any of the other jobs."

"You don't have to press charges if I write it up as a parole violation," Harper pointed out. "The board will pull his ticket in nothing flat."

"I said no," the judge repeated firmly, "and don't try to out-legal me. I'm his parole officer of record now, so I'm the one who has to file for revocation. If you have questions for him, ask them here. If you have more investigating to do, then do it. But I'm not gonna let you lock him up just to make your job easier…or out of some misguided attempt to protect me."

Hardcastle softened his tone. "The kid isn't involved in this, Frank. Trust me."

"And what if you're wrong?" Harper demanded.

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "You know the answer to that, Frank. _If_ the kid turns out to be bad, I won't need you to take him in. I'll throw him into the cell myself."

Harper barked out a brief laugh. "Yeah, I guess you would at that. Okay, Milt, if you're not willing to press charges, I'm not gonna try to make an issue out of it…yet. But I may still want him downtown for questioning sometime soon. And I will definitely be watching him."

"I appreciate the concern," Hardcastle said sincerely. "And if you decide you need to question him later, we'll decide then how to handle it."

Harper laughed again; he had known Hardcastle wouldn't just blindly agree to the questioning, but it had been worth a shot. He was still grinning when they opened the door and stepped back into the entry area.

Seeing the lieutenant approach him, McCormick raised himself slowly from his seat on the staircase. He looked quickly past Harper to where Hardcastle stood, but—as usual—the judge's face wasn't giving anything away. He pressed his lips together tightly to keep from blurting out his question; no way he was going to give them that satisfaction.

Harper reached McCormick, grabbed his arm, and spun him around. He felt the young man stiffen, and decided he was glad the kid was scared. Maybe it would keep him in line…and keep Milton a bit more protected.

"You'd better be on the level with him," Harper whispered harshly into McCormick's ear as he removed the handcuffs.

McCormick turned slowly to face the officer, absently rubbing his wrists to get his circulation going again. "Always," he said softly.

Harper raised his voice to a normal level. "I don't want him leaving town, Milt," he said, his eyes locked on McCormick's.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lieutenant," McCormick assured him, and Harper thought immediately of the week he had spent baby-sitting the young man in the cell. Hardcastle was right about one thing: the kid could definitely get to you. The detective shook his head and turned away from the sincere blue eyes. Seeing the judge laughing silently at his discomfort, Harper simply shrugged, grinned, and walked out the front door.

McCormick breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against the wall. "Whatever you said to him, Judge, I appreciate it."

Hardcastle shot him an evil grin. "What if I said 'give me a few hours and I'll bring him to you myself'?" he teased.

McCormick laughed easily. "Then at least I won't have to wear cuffs on the ride, and I'll have time for lunch first. All in all, not a bad deal."

After a moment, the young man sobered, and looked at Hardcastle earnestly. "It really wasn't me, Judge. It's great that you didn't ask, but I wanted to say it, anyway."

"I know that, kiddo," Hardcastle replied gently. "It's not like it just slipped my mind to ask, you know. Now, let's have that lunch, because you've still got work to do before we go get my car back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

McCormick ducked quickly into the entryway of the main house to wait out the initial downpour, shaking the water from his hair and cursing the weather. The damn rain wasn't supposed to be here until tonight and Hardcastle was going to have his ass for not getting all of the fertilizer down in time. It's not like he wasn't already walking on thin ice with the judge and his lingering suspicions; he certainly didn't need to fall behind on his chores, too. Still, he might as well tell Hardcastle now rather than wait for him to find out on his own. He figured the old guy would be slightly less angry if he was at least upfront about it.

Making sure that he had finished dripping, McCormick started toward the den, and only then noticed that the double doors were closed. While not unheard of, that was a little bit unusual, and anything unusual was making him nervous these days. He reached the doors and waited quietly outside, listening. He didn't really like spying on the judge like this, but he also didn't want to get blindsided by anything that might pop up during this particular case. He could hear Hardcastle's voice from inside, but no one else. And, since there was also no visiting car parked in the drive, it seemed a safe assumption that the judge was talking on the phone. He leaned closer, almost pressing his ear to the door.

"No, Frank, I haven't talked to him about it yet. The damn thing just came in the morning mail and McCormick's been out in the yard. To tell you the truth, I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

_What the hell is going on now? _McCormick thought, as he waited for Harper's side of the conversation to stop. He wanted Hardcastle to say more, to give him more clues.

"No, nothing came but the tape," Hardcastle responded. "I'll bring it down to you later to check for prints, but I'll be surprised if anything shows up." Again, Hardcastle paused to listen.

"Didn't recognize the other voice, so I'm pretty sure it's not anyone I talked to the other day at the track. But it's definitely McCormick he's talking to, and I really don't like the sound of the conversation."

Hardcastle's voice took on a saddened tone. "It looks like I might have been wrong about the kid, Frank. I think maybe he's been playing me all along. I probably should've let you take him in yesterday."

McCormick tried to swallow around the lump that was suddenly in his throat, and wondered what to do. What in the hell had been on that tape to finally seal his fate? And would there be any way to undo the damage now? Surely, something could be done; after all, he really was innocent.

His brain was still trying to decide the best course of action when his heart took control and he found himself barging into the den.

"Why don't you just tell him to send a patrol car for me right now?" McCormick said icily, his fear and anger combining to cause him to practically demand that which he wanted most to avoid.

Hardcastle covered the mouthpiece briefly and growled the first thing that came to mind. "Don't tempt me." He returned his attention to the phone. "I gotta go, Frank. No, don't do anything right now. I'll call you later when I make up my mind."

By the time he watched Hardcastle return the receiver to the cradle, McCormick was regretting his entrance to the den. "Judge…."

Hardcastle glared up at McCormick with narrowed, steel blue eyes. "You make a habit of eavesdropping on my private conversations, McCormick?"

"No," McCormick answered, not denying his guilt in this particular instance.

Hardcastle smile inwardly. For all the whining and moaning he heard from McCormick on a daily basis, he liked the fact that the kid knew when not to make excuses. There were definitely things about this one he would miss. "So you wanna tell me what's different about this time?" he finally asked.

"Just add it to the list of charges, Hardcase," McCormick responded. "You wanna tell _me_ what was on the damned tape?"

"Sit down," Hardcastle directed.

McCormick stared a moment, wanting to argue on principle with being ordered about like a dog, but knowing it was useless. Besides, he wanted to know about the tape. And, he actually wanted to sit down. He dragged one of the armchairs closer to the judge's desk and sat.

"_Now_ you wanna tell me what was on the damned tape?"

"Actually, hotshot, I thought maybe you could tell me. I'm giving you one last chance to tell me what's going on. What are you involved in?"

McCormick slumped back into the chair; this was worse than he thought. He had been prepared for Hardcastle to ask—again—whether or not he _was_ involved in anything, but he hadn't been prepared for such a blunt indication that the question on the judge's mind was not 'if' but 'what'. Damn.

"I'm not involved in anything, Judge," he answered wearily.

"On the outside chance that you haven't already been lying to me, McCormick, I'm gonna suggest that you not start now."

The cold words pierced into McCormick's heart. Apparently, indefinitely was going to end sooner than he had expected. "I—- " He faltered, swallowed hard, and began again.

"I'm not lying, Hardcastle. Not now, not before. Whatever is on the tape isn't true. I want to—" He paused again, and rephrased his thought. "Could I hear it?"

Hardcastle stared into the dejected blue eyes and wondered briefly if those eyes were really capable of the level of deceit the tape implied. He just didn't know anymore. Without further comment, he reached out and pressed the play button.

"_So what's the problem, Skid? You're almost ten thousand short on our agreement."_

_"I'm working on it. It won't be long now."_

_"And is that asshole judge still gonna be watching your back by the time you come up with enough cash?"_

_"I don't plan on being around long enough for it to be a problem."_

_"We're still operating on a timeline here, you know, Skid. You said it would only be two or three weeks. It's been almost twice that."_

_"I know. But Hardcastle's the biggest donkey to ever walk the earth. I'll get it done, then you get me out."_

_"That's the deal. But only one more week, Skid, or the price goes up."_

_"I'll take care of it."_

_"Good. Then I'll take care of him."_

The tape had been silent for several long seconds before McCormick spoke. "That's not… I mean, I didn't… That wasn't…"

"Glad to see it's at least difficult for you to bullshit me, McCormick," Hardcastle said harshly. It was hard to argue with the evidence of the recording, though Hardcastle had watched McCormick closely as the tape played, and he would've sworn the kid was honestly surprised by what he was hearing. _Just surprised it was recorded, more likely,_ he thought.

"Judge!"

Hardcastle wasn't impressed with the young man's righteous indignation. "Don't 'judge' me," he shot back. "You think you've got some kind of reasonable explanation for that?"

"The tape was doctored," McCormick pronounced solemnly.

"You disappoint me, McCormick. I thought you could do better than that."

"I could," McCormick answered slowly, straining not to give in to the anger coursing through him, "if I was trying to make up a lie. The truth is easier, but hardly ever as exciting."

The judge paused for a moment, somehow liking that answer. He gave himself a mental shake; he didn't want to be pulled back into McCormick's charm. "So that's not you on there?"

"Of course it's me, Hardcase, but I didn't really say those things. I mean, not like that. The tape's a fake."

"And just who do you think would do something like that?"

"If I knew the answer to that, we could've put an end to this thing a long time ago." McCormick had barked out the answer, but the back of his mind tickled with a recent memory. He knew it would come back to him eventually, when he was less distracted, though he wasn't sure when _that_ would be.

On the lookout for even the slightest indication of deception, Hardcastle stared at him with open disbelief. "What are you keeping from me, McCormick?"

"Nothing, Judge," McCormick replied, surprised to realize he had given anything away. "I'm just trying to figure out who I said things to that could be turned into that tape."

"Who's the other guy? That might be the logical place to start."

"I don't know."

When the judge simply continued to stare, McCormick repeated the statement.

"I don't know, Judge. What would be the point of keeping it from you now? If I really had been planning anything, I obviously wouldn't be able to pull it off now."

"You could still protect your friend."

"He's not my friend. I don't know who he is."

"How much money were you supposed to pay?"

"I don't know."

"Has he been paid in full now?"

"I don't know."

"When was this tape made?"

"I don't know."

"What was the plan for your escape?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you gonna go?"

"I don't know."

"And what was supposed to happen to me get you out of here? I end up hurt or dead?"

"I don't… _No!"_ Surprised by the question, McCormick was unable to maintain the dull monotone response. He wouldn't have the judge believe he would hire someone to hurt him… or worse. "Judge, I would never do that!"

"So what was the plan?" Hardcastle insisted.

"I don't know! Nothing! There is no plan!"

"I told you this is your last chance to come clean with me, McCormick."

"And I told you I haven't done anything, Hardcastle. I can't tell you what I don't know. Just get Frank back on the phone and get him out here because this is pointless." McCormick was rising from his seat as he spoke, but Hardcastle stopped him with his words.

"We're not done here, McCormick."

Though he was new to the judge's routine, McCormick had learned quickly to recognize the no-nonsense tone when he heard it. He wasn't sure what Hardcastle could do that was worse than putting him in jail, but he didn't want to find out. He sat.

"I want to know who that conversation reminded you of, kiddo."

McCormick almost smiled. Had he been asked, he would've said he hated the immature nickname Hardcastle had hung on him. But now, in this moment, he appreciated the brief flicker of familiarity.

He pulled himself back to the question. "I don't know, Judge. I swear, I'll tell you when I figure it out, but right now, I just don't know."

Hardcastle cursed himself inwardly. Why did he want so badly to believe this kid when every piece of evidence pointed to his guilt? After a moment, he found his voice.

"You know, McCormick, for someone who claims to want to work this out, you have been very little help over the last few weeks. I'd think you would try harder to give me the information I want."

"I can't try any harder," McCormick complained. "I've given you everything I have. Besides, in my own defense, I haven't really had all that much time to be helpful. I mean, the first couple of days you didn't even tell me what was going on, then you threw me in jail for a week, and then you kept me practically a prisoner at the estate for another week after that. I don't know when you thought I was going to be doing all this helping you're talking about. But I've said it before and I'll say it again: just tell me what you want." The edge in his voice revealed the strain McCormick was feeling.

Hardcastle smiled grimly. "You sound a little worried there, McCormick."

"Worried? Judge, I'm scared to death. At first, it seemed like this was dragging out forever, but now…now it seems they're through playing around. Every day it gets a little worse, Hardcastle. First, you get that crazy story about San Diego. The next day, your house gets ripped off. Then they find your stolen car parked in front of my old apartment. And today, this tape. Judge, they're backing you into a corner that _I_ can't get out of.

"I would do anything to stay out of prison, Hardcase, but we both know the road we're on doesn't lead anywhere else unless we figure out who's behind all this. You tell me why I would lie or keep things from you?"

"To prevent further charges," came Hardcastle's immediate response. "This tape indicates a clear case of conspiracy, and could probably be used to help tie you back to all the robberies. That adds up to a lot more time than just serving your remaining three years."

McCormick's lips drew together in a thin, angry line. "You're right, Judge; three years will be a walk in the park. Hell, I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner." He rose quickly from his chair, not about to be stopped this time. "I'm gonna go change." He turned toward the door.

"I want your keys," Hardcastle said from behind the retreating back. He watched McCormick's shoulders slump, though whether it was because of the final insult to his integrity, or because the man had been planning a quick getaway, he didn't know. And he didn't care. Much.

McCormick didn't turn to face the voice. He reached into the pocket of his cut-off jeans to retrieve his keys, then threw them angrily on the floor at his feet. Without a word, he stormed out of the den and out of the house, slamming both doors behind him.

**00000**

McCormick sat on the sofa in the gatehouse wondering just what the hell was going on. Hours had passed since he had trudged over here from the main house, ignoring the rain that soaked his body, and cursing Hardcastle every step of the way. He had showered and changed clothes, packed his meager belongings, and called Barbara Johnson to make arrangements for her to come get his things in a few days. She had been disbelieving about the sudden turn of events, but then, she had liked Hardcastle almost from the beginning. He had told her to be sure and ask the judge about the St. Jude medallion that still hadn't turned up, and he would have to remember to ask Hardcastle to keep an eye out for it. Not that he would be needing it for several years, of course, but he hated to think of it lost forever.

_Lost forever. _Okay, there were a couple of words he could've gone all day without really focusing on, because that's exactly the way he felt. He had found something here at Gull's Way. He couldn't name it, couldn't define it, and sure as hell wouldn't admit to it, but it was there just the same. And now, whatever it was, he had lost it.

No, that wasn't quite right. He hadn't lost it; it had been taken from him. He could feel the anger burning inside of himself, and was surprised at its intensity. Surprised to realize that the prison sentence looming in front of him suddenly seemed a thousand times worse because of what he was leaving behind.

McCormick looked around the simple elegance of the gatehouse and remembered distinctly his first night in residence. God, it seemed like a lifetime had gone by in less than two months. He had been so scared that night, and so angry. He had run his mouth pretty much non-stop to hide his emotions, though he realized now Hardcastle had undoubtedly seen right through his act.

He wondered if the judge had also known that he never intended to stay. Not that he would run; he would never do that. But he had figured they might not actually catch Martin Cody, and if they didn't, he would find a way to convince the judge that he should be released from his commitment. And if they did catch Cody, well…he had figured he would do the Tonto routine for a little while—put in his time—then find a way to become someone Hardcastle would want to get rid of. Getting sent back to Quentin in the process hadn't been part of his plan. And the idea that he might actually want to stay had never crossed his mind.

McCormick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He felt the despair raging through him like a physical pain, and a small groan escaped his lips. He wanted to run; he felt that desire almost as strongly as he felt the despair. But, sitting in this gatehouse, overwhelmed beyond reason by the loss of Hardcastle's trust, he knew that he would never be able to make himself go. He cursed himself for that perceived weakness, and he cursed Hardcastle for not recognizing it.

He raised his head, a small grin playing on his face. He couldn't believe the old guy had taken his keys. Besides being insulting, it was completely useless. Had the donkey forgotten who he was dealing with? If he wanted to go, he'd go, and not having keys would hardly even slow him down. The judge certainly knew that, so he was probably just trying to make a point.

McCormick shook his head uncertainly and stretched out on the sofa. He still didn't know what the hell was going on, but he might as well be comfortable while he waited to figure it out.

**00000**

Milton Hardcastle shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of his recently recovered Corvette. Sitting here in the car, in a dark garage, with a blanket pulled around his shoulders, a pillow behind his head, and a .45 revolver within reach, he thought he had quite probably gone completely around the bend. This was, without question, the most ridiculous thing he had done in a very long time.

But McCormick had been right. This situation was rushing toward an inevitable conclusion: the kid was going back to prison. He had seen the desperation in McCormick's eyes when the damning words came from the tape recording and the young man had realized he was out of options. Hardcastle knew from long years of experience that desperation of that magnitude made a person want to bolt from whatever situation they were in, and he believed strongly that you could tell a lot from how a person reacted to that urge. An innocent man wouldn't run, a guilty one always would. He was prepared to wait out the night in the Corvette to determine once and for all just which category Mark McCormick fell into.

**00000**

McCormick bolted straight up on the sofa, the face of Lenny Archer etched in his mind. Jeez, how could he have forgotten? It had only been a few days ago, but, honestly, he had never really expected it to be one of his friends, so it just hadn't registered in his conscious mind.

He rose slowly to his feet, feeling the aches and pains of sleeping all night on a sofa rather than a bed. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, as he stretched the kinks out of his back.

He glanced at his watch: not even six o'clock. Under normal circumstances, he would've climbed the stairs, thrown himself into bed, and gone promptly back to sleep. However, since he had fully expected to wake up behind bars this morning, today seemed the furthest thing from normal, so he headed for the bathroom instead.

After brushing his teeth, he cast a critical eye on the face reflected in the mirror. He thought he should shower and maybe he'd feel more ready to face this day, but more than anything, he wanted to know why he was still here. What was going on in Hardcastle's mind, and what should he expect next?

Without further hesitation, he headed out the door. No matter what the judge was thinking, he needed to tell him about Archer. It might be the very definition of too little, too late, but he had to try. And he was still here, after all, so McCormick allowed himself a small glimmer of hope as he crossed the lawn.

As he approached the front of the main house, McCormick heard the telephone begin to ring. When it hadn't been answered by the third ring, he began to get worried. Had something happened to Hardcastle? That would explain why he was still at the estate instead of a jail cell, but it certainly was not the explanation he wanted. He burst through the front door without bothering to knock. He heard the answering machine pick up the phone call, and then heard Frank Harper's voice. He considered answering, but decided there was no sense alerting the detective to his unfounded fears.

"Judge?" he shouted. "Where are you?" He had taken the first two steps toward the second floor when he recognized the sound of running shower water. Relieved, he headed back to the den, intending to pick up and take Harper's message personally. The words he heard coming from the machine changed his mind instantly.

"…another burglary last night, in Brentwood. We found a medallion in the garage, some kind of religious-looking thing, has McCormick's fingerprints on it. Looks like the game is finally up. When you guys get back to the house, call me and let me know if you want me to send someone after him or if you want to bring him in yourself. And, Milt…I'm really sorry."

Horrified, McCormick stared at the machine long after Harper's voice had stopped. Whatever had prompted Hardcastle to give him one more chance, this message was sure as hell going to change his mind. He reached out instinctively to erase the tape, but paused with his finger on the button. Erasing the message wasn't going to change anything, except to make it worse. Harper was still going to have his medallion, and the judge was still going to find out about it eventually. Trying to cover it up was only going to make him seem guiltier…if that was possible.

He moved away from the answering machine and thought quickly. Hardcastle would be finished with his shower before long, and then he would be out of time. McCormick thought it highly unlikely the judge would want to hear about Archer—or anything else—once he found out about the medallion. If he stayed now, McCormick knew that he would be back in Quentin before the weekend was out, Archer would be off scot-free, and he would never know why all of this was happening to him. That was something he couldn't allow to happen. If he was going back inside, he wanted to know why.

McCormick reached into the top desk drawer to grab a note pad, and saw Hardcastle's keys lying there. It occurred to him that the cops were going to be looking for him very soon, and the Coyote would stand out like a sore thumb. Even the Corvette would be easy enough to spot, but the pickup…. He snatched the keys, hating himself even as he did it.

He grabbed a pen and scribbled a quick note:

_Frank left you a message, Judge, but it's not what you think. I swear, it wasn't me. I'm going to find out who it is. I hope. I'm not running out on you, I just have to check something out. I'm sorry to leave like this, but I'll be back soon. I promise._

Before he could change his mind, McCormick picked up the note pad, threw it on the staircase as he left the house, and sprinted for the driveway.

He thought briefly about disabling the remaining two cars, but it seemed sort of pointless. Hardcastle had the entire L.A. police department at his disposal, so keeping him from personally joining in the hunt would accomplish nothing other than pissing him off even further. McCormick decided he could live without that. He jumped into the truck, started it up, slammed it into gear, and tore down the drive.

As he paused to check the traffic before pulling onto the Coast Highway, he cast a longing glance into the rearview mirror, taking one last look at the estate behind him. He knew he wouldn't be returning, and though he thought he had come to grips with that idea last night, he still found his heart filled with a sadness that he would never have expected. But he had no choice, so he dismissed the unwanted thoughts and pointed the truck south, hoping Hardcastle would talk to him just one more time and give him a chance to explain.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Hardcastle sat at his desk after listening to the recorded message from Harper, and read the note from McCormick for the fourth time. _Damn it._ He could understand why the kid had panicked, but that didn't make him any happier about the situation. He had spent a long, uncomfortable night in a cold garage just to convince himself that McCormick had what it took to stick it out, only to have the kid dash his newfound confidence. No, he was not happy about this situation at all, and when he found McCormick, the young man would clearly understand the idea of hell to pay.

In the meantime, though, he needed the police to know the truth. He picked up the phone and dialed Harper's number.

"_Frank Harper," _came the gruff response.

"Frank, it's Milt. I got your message."

"_Hey, Milt. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you. I know it's not how you wanted it to end."_

"No, it's not," Hardcastle agreed, "but I don't think it's over yet, at least not like you're thinking. McCormick wasn't in that house last night, Frank."

"_Milt…"_

"Frank, listen to me. After I told McCormick about the tape yesterday, I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do; still couldn't bring myself to believe he was behind all these things. So, I let him think I was sending him back, and then I let him go to the gatehouse."

"_Milt,"_ Harper interrupted, _"I told you before that you're too close to this. You aren't thinking clearly."_

"I'm thinking more clearly now than I have for days," Hardcastle replied harshly, "so listen to what I'm trying to tell you.

"Anyway, he went to the gatehouse, and he didn't come out again all night. But I wasn't too sure what I thought he would do, so I waited in the garage, just in case. Frank, I was there all night, and he never left. I'm telling you, McCormick was not in Brentwood last night. He was at the estate all day and all night, so unless you've got a really large window of time for that burglary, McCormick isn't your guy."

"_Are you sure?"_

"Positive."

"_Well, thank God for that,"_ Harper answered, genuinely relieved. _"We didn't find any other prints on the medallion, though, or anywhere else, so whoever is setting the kid up, they're still being awfully careful. Does he have any idea who might be_ _behind this?"_

"Well, he says not," Hardcastle said slowly, "but…"

"_But what?"_ Harper demanded.

"He's gone, Frank."

"_Milt. You just told me you could vouch for his whereabouts all night, that he hadn't left Gull's Way. Now you're saying he's not actually there?"_

"He was still here when I came in the house half an hour ago," Hardcastle explained. "But he must've heard your message this morning and he took off. He left a note saying he'd be back, but he didn't say where he was going.

"You know, something was bothering him about that tape yesterday, like he almost knew who it was, but couldn't put his finger on it." Hardcastle could feel his anger returning as he explained the situation to the detective. "He might have finally figured it out and went to take care of it. Without me. Damn fool kid."

"_On the other hand,"_ Harper suggested, _"he might have finally given up on your willingness to keep him out of prison and just taken off. He couldn't possibly have known you were gonna alibi him for last night." _

"That's probably closer to the truth," Hardcastle admitted, though he thought Harper might only have been playing devil's advocate. He sat silently for a moment, then spoke again. "It's over anyway, Frank. I want you to pick him up. Parole violation and grand theft auto. He took my truck. Bring him in."

"_You're sure?"_

"I'm sure, Frank. He might not have been behind these robberies, but this case has still shown me that he can't really be trusted. First time it gets a little rough, he takes off on me; I can't have that. I want him brought in."

Privately, Harper thought the judge might be wrong in his assessment, but Hardcastle should know best whether or not McCormick was a good fit for his unusual retirement project. _"I'll put out an APB, Milt. We'll find him."_

"Thanks, Frank." Hardcastle started to hang up the phone, then remembered something. "By the way, did you find anything on that Leonard Archer guy?"

"_No record to speak of,"_ the detective answered. _"Just a couple of minor beefs when he was about nineteen, but nothing since then. Nothing at all down in San Diego, so he probably just completely made up that story, though I couldn't tell you why. There's nothing at all to tie him to these burglaries, and nothing to indicate any bad blood between him and McCormick. I started with his criminal history, of course. I'll let you know what I find out from the check of his personal history, but so far, it looks like a dead end."_

"All right, Frank. Thanks for checking it out for me. I guess it doesn't really matter now, anyway. I'll talk to you later."

Hardcastle hung up the phone and returned his attention to the note McCormick had left behind. If the kid knew something, why hadn't he at least put it in the letter? Even if Harper's call had scared him, wouldn't it have made more sense to try to lay the blame on someone else before he took off? Of course, the kid probably thought he wouldn't believe him, and, given everything that had happened, Hardcastle couldn't blame him for that.

But then, why leave the note at all? Why not erase the message from Harper, get in the Coyote, and go? Given McCormick's normal sleep patterns, it would've been at least a couple of hours before Milt thought to go to the gatehouse and check on him. Maybe the kid thought he could play on his emotions one last time. Maybe leaving the note—with its apologies and empty promises—was McCormick's way of trying to slow the pursuit.

Well, Mark McCormick was about to discover that Milton Hardcastle was not so easily manipulated. The young wiseguy was going to get a much-needed lesson in action and reaction, and you could bet the reaction was going to be fierce. In fact, when he found McCormick, Hardcastle thought he might personally kick his ass. Right before he shipped him back to San Quentin.

**00000**

A small knock on the door interrupted Hardcastle's murderous thoughts, which was just as well, really. It probably wasn't proper for a judge to be finding such joy in the idea of someone rotting in prison for the rest of their natural born life.

"C'mon in, Sarah," he called out.

The housekeeper entered the room slowly, a sad look painted on her face. "I never thought he would do this," she said quietly, as she placed a cup of coffee in front of the judge.

"Me, either," he replied, "not really. I guess I let him get to me a little too much, myself. Didn't really mean for that to happen."

Sarah smiled slightly. "I know you didn't, Your Honor, but it was easy with him, wasn't it?" She paused a moment. "He did say he'd come back, you know."

"He also said he wouldn't leave to begin with," Hardcastle pointed out.

"I bet he was scared when he heard the lieutenant's message," Sarah continued mildly, giving no hint that there was any ulterior motive behind the comment.

"No doubt," Hardcastle agreed. He had intended the response to be sarcastic, but found it was simply too true.

"He didn't have to leave a note, Judge. He could've just erased the message and gone; that would've given him quite a head start."

"I've already thought of that, Sarah. But I hope you're not asking me to be grateful that he's apparently only a little bit deceptive."

She shook her head slightly. "Of course not. You have every right to be angry. But when it turns out that he's doing exactly what he said—when he comes back—I want you to think about taking him back." Without waiting for a response, Sarah left the den and closed the door behind her.

Hardcastle watched her go, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or scream. How, in the name of all that was holy, could one long-haired, short-tempered, smart-mouthed convicted felon produce such loyalty in such a short amount of time? And he couldn't help but wonder… would the next one be anywhere near as good?

**00000**

McCormick walked slowly down a narrow, run-down street, toward a tiny, run-down house. He had made a call to Kong to find out where Archer lived, and he had gotten the address of Lenny's sister where the racer was staying temporarily. He was hoping Archer was still here. Kong had said he was racing this weekend, but McCormick thought it was too early for him to have headed for the track.

As he moved, he tried not to finger the small microphone that lay hidden inside his shirt. A brief stop to visit another old friend had gotten him fitted with the listening device, and the recorder was safely back in the pickup truck. If he was lucky, he would have proof of his innocence to take back when he returned to face Hardcastle's wrath. Not that he expected that to make much difference, but it would make him feel better.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say to Archer, but he took a deep breath and started up the walk to the house. Before he reached the front step, McCormick saw the side door open, and Archer stepped out into the carport, keys in hand.

"Lenny!" McCormick called out to him genially, not wanting to spook him right from the beginning.

"Hey, Skid," Archer answered,not seemingsurprised at the unexpected visit. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to talk to you for a minute, Len," McCormick replied as he reached the carport. "About Judge Hardcastle."

"What about him?" Archer asked with feigned disinterest.

"He told me about San Diego." McCormick watched the other man closely, and saw the understanding in his eyes. "You want to tell me what in the hell you thought you were doing?"

"Hey, Skid, I talked to the Martins, and they said you wanted us to be honest with that judge."

"Yeah, exactly…honest. I didn't want anyone lying to protect me. It never occurred to me to ask that no one lie to incriminate me."

"What are you talking about?" Archer demanded. "I just repeated a story I'd been told. You mean it wasn't true?"

McCormick looked at him skeptically. "No, Lenny, it wasn't true. Did you happen to tell Hardcastle you were just repeating rumors, or did you let him believe you spoke from first-hand knowledge? And who'd you hear it from, anyway?"

"I don't know, man, I just heard it around, you know?"

Whatever inkling McCormick might have had that Archer was being truthful vanished. He closed the gap between them, placed a firm hand on Archer's chest, and backed him against the car.

"No, Lenny, I don't know. I don't believe that for a minute. First of all, Hardcastle wouldn't have given it a second thought if you'd told him that you heard such an insane story from an unidentified source. And, secondly, it's not like I'm such a hot topic of conversation, anyway. People have better things to do than go around spreading rumors about me, true or otherwise."

"That's what you think," Archer said, a deep bitterness suddenly lacing his tone. "Sometimes I think people have absolutely nothing better to do than talk about you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" McCormick had been prepared for many things, but this wasn't one of them.

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, McCormick," Archer snapped, pushing himself away from the car and out of McCormick's grasp. "You know you've always been the golden child. In the winner's circle more than the rest of us. Everybody's best friend. The one always destined to do more. Everything always comes so easy for you."

"Easy!" McCormick was dumbfounded. "Have you forgotten where I spent the last two years of my life, Lenny? Or that I'm living in the custody of a judge just to keep from going back inside?"

"No! I haven't forgotten a thing, including the fact that I'm tired of playing second banana to the great Mark McCormick."

This was insane. "What in the hell are you talking about?" McCormick demanded for the second time. Maybe if he just kept asking, it would eventually make sense.

"When's the last time I beat you on the track, McCormick?" Archer asked suddenly.

McCormick paused. "I…I don't know, Lenny, why? I haven't raced to speak of in almost three years. Just a couple of single shots, nothing major."

"You know, Skid, that's part of your problem. Some of us would kill for those little single shots that you blow off like they're beneath you. But to answer my own question…would it surprise you to realize that I have never beaten you? Not once, Skid. Not in any kind of race. Never. Driving is my life, and I can't even win against someone who doesn't have enough respect for the sport to keep himself out of jail long enough to use the talent he's been given. You disgust me."

"Lenny, how can you say that? We've known each other a long time, and you know nothing is more important to me than racing."

"Except staying out of prison," Archer said blandly.

The words stopped McCormick. He had almost forgotten why he started this conversation. "Well…yeah, I guess so. Trust me, if you'd ever been inside, you'd understand."

"Maybe. But I'm tired of people fawning all over you, McCormick, when you're not even worth it. When you were out at the track earlier this month and turned down the Dawson ride, I knew you needed to go away. My God, Skid, you were only there a couple of hours, and you were offered a ride. Tell me again how you're not living a charmed life."

"You're not even making any sense. If I'd taken the ride, then you wouldn't have had it, and you wouldn't have placed in Georgia. How is that better?"

"I don't know," Archer admitted. "But you've taken enough things from me. I want you out of here, far away, where I won't ever have to see you again."

McCormick wasn't sure whether to be angry or sad. How could he never have seen the resentment Archer carried inside? Of course, he hadn't seen the man in almost three years, which really made the whole thing just that much more bizarre.

"I don't understand. So I beat you in a few races; I've lost plenty of them, too. And I turned down a job you think I should've jumped at. I still don't see how that leads to you trying to set me up so Hardcastle would send me back to prison."

"That's because you're always too wrapped up in yourself to worry about anyone else."

"What!" McCormick was debating whether he should just clobber the guy or run from the insanity of the conversation. "Lenny, until last week, I hadn't seen you in years. You moved away before I got sent to Quentin, and you weren't here when I got out. What is it I am supposed to know?"

"I don't suppose you know where I was?" There was a desperation creeping into Archer's voice, and the anger in his eyes tried to hide a vast emptiness.

McCormick racked his brain desperately. Something was definitely wrong with his friend, and he didn't want to make it worse. "When you moved away, you went down to Texas, right?" He was relieved to see Archer nodding. "After that, I heard you were in the Carolinas for a while, and then moved up to Frisco a year or so ago." He was surprised to see a small smile forming on Archers lips.

"You kept track of me all that time, Skid?"

McCormick shrugged, and forced a gentle tone. "We're friends, Lenny."

"Maybe," Archer answered, his voice hardening again. "But you missed a crucial step in my career path, Skid. I left Frisco five or six months ago. I had a real sweet deal going." He paused, staring at McCormick coldly. "Out in Vegas."

McCormick's breath caught as the pieces began to fall into place. "What? You didn't work for…I mean, it wasn't…Cody?"

"You're a pretty bright boy, McCormick," Archer said derisively. "Too bad you couldn't have figured all this out in time to keep yourself out of trouble with that crazy judge."

"But what…?"

"Oh, I wasn't working for Cody directly; I was one of Joey Morgan's stunt drivers. It's not the most exciting work, but it's steady, and the pay is decent. Besides, Cody had this whole plan for a full team of cars and drivers. That Coyote you're running around in now was going to be the crown jewel—and of course, that wouldn't have been my ride—but Mr. Cody had great plans. He wanted cars in all the majors, and he wanted several people out at the smaller shows every weekend. Skid, it was gonna be my ticket to the big time. I had a sponsor, and as soon as the Coyote went into production, Cody was going to take the circuit by storm. Then you and that judge showed up, and everything fell apart."

McCormick recognized the bitterness born of frustration and loss; he recognized it all too well. And though he hated to admit it, he recognized something else, as well: those emotions were easier to deal with when you had a direction for your anger. He himself had spent two and a half years directing his own anger at Hardcastle, and while it hadn't changed a single thing about his situation, it sure as hell made him feel better to have someone to blame. McCormick found that he didn't like being on the receiving end of that blame, and vowed silently that he would try to treat the judge a little better in the future. If he had the chance.

"Lenny," McCormick said softly, "I had no idea. And I'm really sorry about the way it happened. I never would've wanted to hurt you. But, man, you have to know…I would do it again. They killed Flip, Lenny, and they killed him for a car. Maybe the Coyote was supposed to be your ticket, but it sure as hell should have been his, too. You might have lost a job, Lenny, but Flip lost his life. And I lost my best friend. There was just no way Martin Cody was going to get away with that."

McCormick watched Archer closely for a minute, and he could see the understanding slowly dawning in his eyes, but the anger wasn't fading. Still, this might be the best chance he was going to get. He had to keep Archer talking.

"Just so you know," McCormick continued, "for what it's worth, you got what you wanted. I'm on my way out of town before Hardcastle can put me away again. I just stopped by to find out why."

"So what finally did you in?" Archer asked with an unsympathetic interest. "San Diego? Or the tape recording?"

"The medallion. That was a nice touch. I suppose I lost it out at the track the other day?"

Archer grinned. "Wrapped up like a present in that jumpsuit you handed me. You know, Skid, you'd be surprised how easily this stuff just came together. I mean, that first day, when I called Hardcastle? It was right after you'd been at the track and I was just pissed. I just wanted to cause you a little trouble, so I picked a story out of the newspaper, and I blamed it on you. I never figured it would be more. But then I couldn't stop thinking about you, and later that night I found out where that judge lived, and I drove out there. I didn't even know what I was going to do, so I was just sitting there watching for a long time. When I saw you leave in the middle of the night, I still thought I could stir up some shit, so I made another call.

"Then I got the idea of ripping off the judge; figured that would look real bad for you. So I called up this friend of mine, told him he could keep anything he could get, as long as he made it a clean job. He said no problem, but it had to wait because he already had some jobs scoped out. Can you believe the luck? I just got information from him about his jobs and kept an eye on you. Sometimes I reported the jobs to Hardcastle—when it looked like you wouldn't be able to prove an alibi. Somewhere along the line it stopped being just fun and I really thought I could get you sent away again, but that judge held out a long time. You must've been using some of that world famous McCormick charm on him, all right.

"So, I got with some other friends, and we upped the ante just a bit. They hooked me up with a microphone and stuff. I thought I'd have to go look you up to make a tape, but then you showed up at the track again. I dug the stuff out of the car and wandered over to say hello. My friends don't need much to work with, and I thought they did a pretty decent job with the tape. Hell, I almost believed it myself. Then when I saw the medallion in your jumpsuit, well…it was just all too easy." Archer glared at McCormick with a slightly demented hatred, and his grin matched his eyes. "I guess the charm finally wore off, huh?"

"Something like that," McCormick replied bitterly. He was angry beyond words that this man had finally pushed him into a corner where all the charm in the world wouldn't save him, though he had to admit it had been his own choice to leave without giving Hardcastle one last chance to believe him.

But in spite of the anger, there were other emotions fighting for attention inside his head: confusion, sadness, fear. He didn't know which one would finally win the battle, but he knew he'd had enough of this conversation. He allowed the sadness to reach his voice as he spoke his final words to Archer.

"I guess you win, Lenny. I might not be going back to prison right now, but even if they never catch me, my freedom is gone. I'm always gonna be on the run, always looking over my shoulder, and, God knows, I won't ever be able to race again if I want to stay out of sight. So remember me the next time you're standing in the winner's circle, Lenny. And remember Flip Johnson. And tell yourself it was worth it."

McCormick didn't expect a reply, and he didn't wait around to give Archer the chance to prove him wrong. He simply turned on his heel and strode away, his shoulders slumped from the sadness of this unexpected betrayal. It occurred to him then that Hardcastle was probably feeling much the same way this morning—though perhaps slightly less surprised—and if Mark had been harboring even the slightest thought of running for real, that idea was now gone for good.

**00000**

Hardcastle considered ignoring the ringing phone. The last couple of hours had done nothing to improve his mood, and he found it unlikely that this phone call would do so, either. But, of course, it could be McCormick; that was the whole reason he wasn't out himself looking for his truck and the ungrateful kid who had swiped it. His mind didn't really expect to hear from McCormick ever again, but he still felt the small hope in his heart as he placed the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"_It's me, Milt,"_ Frank Harper's voice said. And though they wouldn't speak of it, the detective immediately knew he wasn't the person Hardcastle had hoped to find on the other end of the line. _"Just got some more information about Leonard Archer I thought you might find interesting."_

"Spit it out, Frank. I'm not really in the mood for games today."

"_Finally found that connection to Martin Cody that McCormick was looking for, believe it or not. Seems Archer was working for that Joey Morgan guy, the one providing the muscle for Cody."_

"Archer was involved?" Hardcastle was surprised.

"_No, doesn't really look that way. Seems he was on the legitimate end of the business. But, of course, the business has fallen on some hard times lately, thanks to you and your wayward friend. Archer moved back out here right after you guys busted Cody and his goons. Seems he's back to some independent racing now." _Harper waited for the string of questions, comments and suggestions that he'd come to expect from Milton Hardcastle, and was surprised when they never came.

"_Milt? You okay?"_

"It's a little tidy, don't you think?" Hardcastle said.

"_What do you mean?"_ Harper asked, thinking that this situation was really about as far from tidy as you could get.

"I mean, how could McCormick have possibly known there was a connection to Cody? I think he's leading us—me—down the garden path."

Harper could almost see the walls going up around Hardcastle, walls that just a few weeks ago he would've sworn McCormick had started to bring down. He wasn't happy with the image. _"Maybe,"_ he answered slowly, _"but it doesn't feel that way to me. I don't know how he knew about the Cody angle…intuition, I guess. That's how cases get solved, you know. Anyway, I'll have Archer picked up for questioning and we'll see what we can find out."_

"Why don't you hold off just a bit, Frank?" Hardcastle suggested. "Let's get McCormick back under wraps first. If he's playing us, or if they're in this together, or something, there's no sense scaring him off just yet."

"_I can wait on Archer,"_ Harper agreed, _"but I gotta say I think you're wrong about the kid, Milt. It doesn't look like he's gonna end up behind any of this." _The detective paused a moment before continuing. _"You know,"_ he finally said, _"you had more faith in him when there was a lot more reason to think he was dirty."_

"That was before he stole my truck and ran," Hardcastle answered coldly, and since there was really no way to argue that point, Harper just said goodbye and hung up the phone, leaving Hardcastle to his ever growing anger.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

McCormick took a deep breath and knocked. Hearing the answering invitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The look of sheer disbelief on Frank Harper's face would have been absolutely hysterical under other circumstances. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain that the walk he had just made from the parking lot represented his last taste of freedom for several years, so he wasn't really in a laughing mood. He settled for a small smile of greeting. "Frank."

The lieutenant didn't waste time with small talk. "Do you know there's an APB out on you?"

McCormick nodded slightly. "I heard your message to the judge this morning. I know things look pretty bad, but I'll say again that it wasn't me."

"The burglaries aren't even the issue any more, McCormick," Harper said heatedly. "Hardcastle gave you an alibi for last night."

"What?"

Harper related a brief explanation of the judge's all night garage vigil, and he saw the sudden, surprised gratitude light McCormick's eyes. Then he saw the light die almost as quickly when he explained that the APB was issued after Hardcastle filed the stolen vehicle report. "You weren't expecting that, I guess?"

"Nope." McCormick worked hard to keep the hurt from his voice. "But I'm not exactly surprised, either."

Harper glared at the young man's seeming lack of concern. "I can't believe you ran," he said coldly. "I told you how bad that would look for Milt."

"First of all, Lieutenant, I didn't run. I had business to take care of. And, secondly, _I_ told _him_ I'd be back." He shrugged slightly. "I'm back."

"So why are you here instead of there?"

McCormick allowed himself a tiny grin. "I figured it was marginally safer."

"We'll see about that," Harper said darkly.

McCormick swallowed hard, not appreciating the threat, but figuring it was only gonna get worse, anyway. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cassette tape. He tossed it onto the desk in front of Harper. "This is for you, Frank. Do what you want with it, but it should help you clear a few open cases, if you're interested."

"What is it?" Harper asked as he rummaged through his desk, looking for a player.

"Should be my key to freedom," McCormick answered. "Too bad it's probably not gonna work out that way."

Harper had found a portable cassette player and was listening to McCormick's earlier conversation through the headset. "This Archer, by any chance?"

McCormick's mouth dropped open in surprise. "How'd you know?"

The lieutenant almost grinned. "Hardcastle isn't exactly new to this kind of thing, you know; he had some ideas in mind." He sobered completely. "He was a hundred percent behind you, McCormick, right up until this morning. Too bad you couldn't have waited one more day to pull your vanishing act."

McCormick shook his head sadly. "No way I could've expected him to believe me after you found the medallion, Frank. I had to take matters into my own hands. But, anyway, what're you gonna do about Archer? He should be at the track now, if you want him. He's too messed up to know I was setting him up."

"We'll pick him up, and get him to give up his friend," Harper said as he set the headset aside. "And what about you?" he asked somberly.

"That's up to you," McCormick answered evenly. "I can go home or I can stay here; I won't argue about it either way."

"I think it might be best if you stay here," Harper replied, almost apologetically.

McCormick nodded slowly. "Not a problem."

Harper rose from behind his desk and started toward the door. "Wait here for a few minutes, Mark, while I dispatch a unit. Then I'll have to put you in a holding room. In the meantime, why don't you use your phone call to talk to Milt?"

McCormick looked at the detective despondently. "I don't know if I can, Frank. Would you tell him I'm here?"

"You can't avoid him forever, Mark," the lieutenant said gently.

"I know. But I think I can only deal with this conversation once. It's not like he'll let it go with just a phone call."

"No, I don't imagine he would." Harper indicated a chair in front of his desk. "Sit down and wait, Mark. I'll be back in a minute."

McCormick dropped into the chair and waited, trying to think about anything except the next several years in prison. Fortunately, Harper returned quickly, saving him from his useless effort.

"You really don't want to talk to him?" the lieutenant asked as he rounded his desk and picked up the phone.

McCormick shook his bowed head wordlessly.

Harper dialed the familiar number and waited for the more familiar growl. "_Hardcastle_," he heard over the line.

"Milt, it's Frank. I wanted to let you know that McCormick's here at the station."

"_You picked him up?_"

"Not exactly. He turned himself in, Milt."

Hardcastle was immediately suspicious. "_What kind of game is he runnin'?_"

"I don't think it's like that," Harper replied. "He brought evidence to clear the burglaries. It was Archer and some other guy."

"_Hah!_" Hardcastle snorted. "_What kind of bogus crap did he lay on you? Pretty convenient; I still say they're probably in it together. Anyway, _w_hatever it is, I'm sure you can just start drawing up the charges against_ _him." _The hours of waiting had only served to fuel Hardcastle's anger, and he was well past feeling any amount of uncertainty over his next course of action.

"Milt…"

"_Don't 'Milt' me,_" the judge shouted. "_I'm not interested in any more of his fast_ _talking lies. Just do me a favor and lock him up. I'll fill out the paperwork tomorrow._"

"Tomorrow? Milt, I don't know if I can keep him in a holding cell this time."

"_I'm not asking you to, Frank. I want you to book him and put him in the cooker. I'll call the warden and let him know the kid will be back to Quentin in a couple of days._"

Harper was shocked. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Why don't you come on down here and talk to the kid?"

"_I told you,_ _I'm not interested in anything he has to say, Frank. I'll be down tomorrow for_ _the papers_." The sudden click made it clear that Hardcastle considered the discussion closed.

Harper replaced the receiver slowly, not certain what to say to McCormick. The ex-con saved him the trouble.

"He's not coming, is he?"

"He'll calm down," Harper assured the young man, though he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard the judge so angry.

McCormick smiled weakly. "I doubt it, Lieutenant, but I appreciate you saying so." He gave a half-hearted shrug and tried to hide behind his usual carefree attitude.

"Oh, well. I knew what I was risking when I left. At least no one in Quentin plays basketball at six in the morning, and there's not a single hedge to be clipped." He rose slowly from his chair. "Might as well get this over with."

But Harper didn't rise. "Hang on a minute, Mark; sit back down. Let's give it a little while. He'll come around."

The detective didn't even hint at how much he hoped he was right. As badly as he had wanted McCormick away from Hardcastle when it looked like the kid was bad, he now wanted nothing more than for the ex-con to stay put at Gull's Way. Something about this smart-mouthed, hotheaded kid was good for Hardcastle, and Harper was willing to buy a little time while his friend figured that out for himself.

"I don't know, Frank…"

"You got someplace you'd rather be?"

McCormick grinned ruefully as he folded himself back into the chair. "Lots of 'em, but I don't think they're on today's itinerary." He squirmed in the chair until he made himself comfortable. "So how long do you think?"

Harper shrugged. "Hard to tell with him. But I know he doesn't really want you in jail. And, it's easier to _keep_ you out than _get_ you out, which he full well knows, so he's gonna want to stop me before I get too far along in processing you. So, hopefully, not too long."

It seemed a logical argument, McCormick thought, except for the fact that it was built upon an incorrect foundation; Hardcastle _did_ want him in jail, of that he was certain. But Harper knew the judge better than he did, so maybe things would work out. And even if they didn't, a few extra minutes in an office instead of a cell was okay by him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, prepared to wait until Hardcase decided his fate.

**00000**

Hardcastle sat glaring at the phone he had just slammed down. Why in the hell was Harper trying to get in the middle of this? He, of all people, should understand that McCormick could not stay here when he so clearly could not be trusted.

_But_—

But nothing, Hardcastle argued with himself. So what if McCormick had taken in some kind of evidence to wrap up the burglaries? The kid was just doing that for himself, just making sure he wasn't the one taking the fall.

_Somebody had to_.

Hardcastle shook his head roughly. It wasn't his fault the kid got himself into a jam. The past always has a way of catching up with you. And it wasn't his responsibility to go chasing after every cock and bull story the kid could concoct to try to get out of that jam, especially when the kid wouldn't even _tell_ him the story, but just went running off on his own.

_Your custody, your responsibility_.

He's a grown man; he should take some responsibility for himself.

_He did. Now you're putting him in jail_.

The judge pulled a hand across his mouth. He deserves worse, running out on me like that. He swore he wouldn't run, and I suppose he thinks it's okay just because he turned himself in.

_He told you he'd be back._

Can't trust him anymore; said he'd never lie to me.

_Didn't lie; he came back_.

But, still.

_He came_ _back._

Hardcastle reached quickly for the phone, hoping it wasn't too late.

**00000**

McCormick sat silently in the holding room, waiting and wondering. He was relieved the judge was coming to see him, though he had no idea what he'd say when the donkey finally showed up. God, how could things have gotten so screwed up? Just a couple of weeks ago, he had thought his life might finally be turning around, and now…now he was just another ex-convict who couldn't make it on parole and was facing a long stretch of time looking at life through bars. He shook his head with a slight smile and tried to focus on something else; he hated it when he got morose.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorknob turning.

"What have you got to say for yourself, kid?" Hardcastle closed the door behind him, but didn't move into the room.

McCormick opened up his mouth to respond, ready to lay into the judge with all of his pent up anger and frustration and fear. "How about I'm sorry?"

McCormick had surprised himself with the response; that surely was not what he had intended to say. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he recognized their truth. He was more sorry than he would ever have imagined.

"What were you thinking? And if you knew something, why didn't you take me with you?" Hardcastle struggled to keep his voice calm.

"I needed to go alone," was the only explanation. "Besides," McCormick added, "you made it clear you weren't looking for anyone else. You thought you had your guy."

Hardcastle winced at the betrayal he heard in McCormick's voice. "Your attitude wasn't making my decision any easier, you know," he said by way of defense.

"I suppose," McCormick admitted grudgingly. He paused, then looked over at Hardcastle earnestly. "I would never have left you hanging, Judge. No matter what."

"I know that, kiddo," Hardcastle answered with a heavy sigh. He moved into the room and seated himself at the table across from McCormick. "I appreciate you coming back."

McCormick shrugged off the gratitude. "It's not like you didn't have people looking for me. We both know I would've ended up back here one way or the other."

"It's the way you chose that matters to me."

McCormick felt a small rush of pride from Hardcastle's gentle words. Too bad he wouldn't be hearing more of them. He smiled slightly, and ventured into a new topic. "Harper told me you spent last night in the garage, Judge. Wasn't really necessary, but I sure was glad you could alibi me for that latest burglary."

"I needed to know for sure, McCormick, one way or the other, and I thought I had it figured out. Until I found the note." Hardcastle knew it was McCormick's turn to hear betrayal, and he didn't try to hide it in the least. This wasn't going to get mushy, but it had to be honest.

"God, Judge, I'd apologize a million times if that would make it better, but, somehow, I don't think it will. I only wanted to find out who was setting me up, not cause you any more trouble than I already have." McCormick thought he saw Hardcastle ready to argue that he hadn't been trouble, but the moment was brief, and then hardness returned to the judge's eyes.

McCormick sighed silently. He had hoped to patch things up with Hardcastle before returning to San Quentin, but he didn't seem to be making much progress in that regard. He dismissed the idea and forced himself to ask the question that burned in his mind. "So…how long am I looking at, Judge?"

Hardcastle thought for a long moment. "Well, you've got three years coming from your original sentence, and probably another seven to ten for taking my truck. I doubt if the D.A. will try to make a case for escape, even though they probably could, so I guess that's it."

"That's it?" McCormick was astounded. "You tell me I'm gonna spend at least the next ten years in prison, and all you have to say is 'that's it'? God, Judge, by the time I get out, I'll have spent almost half of my life behind bars!" He turned quickly away, not wanting the judge to see the terror he was feeling.

"Sometimes—"

"Don't say it!" McCormick interrupted forcefully, as he rose from his chair and leaned over the table to glare at Hardcastle. "I don't want to hear again about how sometimes the past catches up with you, or sometimes life isn't fair, or any of the other profound words of wisdom you're always spouting off. I've heard 'em all before, and I sure as hell know how true they can be, so I don't need to be reminded now."

He shoved the chair out of his way and strode angrily across the room to the single window. He stared sadly out the small opening, wishing it were large enough to crawl through, then knowing immediately he wouldn't do it, anyway. He cursed himself inwardly. How could he be so committed to this damned 'arrangement' while Hardcastle clearly had no problem calling it quits? He tried to ignore the stocky figure that crossed the room to stand close to him.

"I guess that's longer than you were expecting?" the judge asked, more to get McCormick's attention than anything else.

McCormick didn't turn from the window. "I didn't really think you'd press charges for the truck," he replied bitterly. "Not that it would've mattered. I would've dragged my dumb ass back here anyway, though God only knows why. But I thought…. Never mind. Doesn't matter what I thought."

"Why _did_ you come back?" Hardcastle asked suddenly.

McCormick shook his head slightly. "Stupidity." He paused for a moment, and then continued, still staring at the outside view. "Remember you asked me before if it would feel different going to prison for something I didn't do instead of for parole violations?" He looked briefly over his shoulder to meet the judge's eyes. "I decided it would. I couldn't let you put me in jail not knowing the truth." Turning back to the window, he added softly, "Again."

Hardcastle wiped a hand across his weary face. "What am I gonna do with you, McCormick?"

"The last time you said that, Judge, I ended up in a cell before the day was over. I guess we're ahead of schedule this time."

"Look, hotshot, running out on me like that was wrong, no matter what you thought you were doing, and—"

"I know," McCormick interrupted sullenly, "I'm not arguing abou—"

"And taking the pickup was just plain stupid, so—"

"I know, Judge, I—"

"So from now on," Hardcastle continued firmly, determined not to be led astray by the continual interruptions, "the rules are, you tell me what you're doing _before_ you do it. In fact, I seem to remember something about not breathing without my permission."

McCormick turned slowly, too stunned to comprehend what he was hearing. "What? From now on? I don't understand."

"Try to stay with me, McCormick," Hardcastle began in a borderline condescending tone that McCormick suddenly hoped he'd have a chance to grow to hate. "The problem here is not that you went after Archer, or even that you took my truck. The problem is that you did it without me. There's a whole lot of legal reasons that's not a good idea, but the only thing you really need to know is that I won't tolerate it again. Tonto does not ride alone. Is that clear?"

McCormick bobbed his head up and down quickly as he felt the relief beginning to flood over him, but he hardly dared to believe Hardcastle would let him off.

"It's clear, Judge, absolutely crystal. You're right, I won't breathe without asking. I'll stay at the house when we're not working, and I'll do the chores. I'll do anything you say, Judge. And I'll even try to watch the mouth; won't complain about things, just tell me what you want. I can—"

Hardcastle laughed and held up his hands to stop the rush of words. "McCormick! Don't make promises you can't keep. It sets a bad precedent."

"I suppose so," McCormick answered with a slight grin. "Then tell me what to say, Judge. I really will do anything. Or at least," he amended quickly, "I'll try."

The judge was amused by McCormick's eagerness. "I thought you had the right idea before, kiddo: just follow my rules and don't ever lie to me."

The gratitude shone in McCormick's eyes as he finally and completely understood that Hardcastle really did intend to take him home today. "Absolutely. I won't. I mean, I will. I mean, I will and I won't. I mean, I will follow your rules, and—"

"McCormick, stop blubbering; I get the point." The judge sobered quickly. "But, listen, I'm serious about this, kiddo. I absolutely want this to be the last time I put you in a cell…ever."

"You and me both, Judge," McCormick answered fervently.

"Then you have to understand that your freedom is more up to you than it is me, McCormick. I know you, and this will be hard. Now, I'm not worried about lies; you're practically truthful to a fault. And most of the rules I figure you'll bitch and whine about, but you'll stick to them."

"Then what's the problem, Hardcase?"

"You're too damned independent for your own good, hotshot. You cannot forget what I said."

And then McCormick laughed in that way he had that said he was already a step ahead of everyone else. "Don't worry, Judge, I've got it. Tonto doesn't ride alone."

He threw his arm companionably around the judge's shoulder and walked him toward the door. "And it won't be a problem, because the Lone Ranger never rides alone, either. You and me, we're partners." He winked at Hardcastle. "Indefinitely."

Hardcastle laughed and shrugged off the arm. "Now you're cookin', kiddo," was the only thing he said as he shoved the young man out the door, thinking that, suddenly, indefinitely didn't seem all that long at all.


End file.
